


Apotheosis

by TheAzureFox



Category: Library of Ruina (Video Game)
Genre: Angela character study, F/F, F/M, M/M, Neglect and Abandonment, Trauma, all ships but Angeland are side ships, also tfw the recent update wrecks your longfic ideas, canon-adherent up to Liu Association, otherwise it's an AU, slowburn romance, summary is just the Very Basic idea of this longfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 59,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAzureFox/pseuds/TheAzureFox
Summary: Lobotomy Corporation is gone now, but Angela is not free. Angry at the world that has thrown her aside, she builds a palace of books and calls herself the goddess of a new kingdom. However, when a man fallen from grace enters her domain, she soon finds herself shaken by the realities of the very humanity she craves for.Or: Angela comes to a gradual realization that her relationship with Roland is spiraling out of control.
Relationships: Angela (Lobotomy Corporation)/Roland (Library of Ruina), Hokma/Binah/Gebura/Chesed, Netzach/Hod/Yesod/Malkuth, Roland/Angelica, onesided Ayin/Angela, onesided Hokma/Ayin
Comments: 22
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: fixed italics and added a scene at end
> 
> Hello!!! With the latest update out I decided to go ahead and start posting my longfic in chapters instead of as a giant one-shot like I originally planned (bc I'm still not done with this lol). The November 6th update basically wrecked this longfic so now this is basically pretty much an AU take on the story (with a lot less plot holes filled in, admittedly). Basically consider this "canon-adherent" up until the Liu Association and then everything after that is my own theories (though I won't be able to get into that until next chapter lol).
> 
> This story:  
> A. Assumes that the game only goes up to the Liu Association Part 2 and the other three timelines have not been touched yet.  
> B. Some events are taken from the game but dramatized. There may be a sense of deja vu because of this but usually I tried to spice up scenes that I put in my own words with the different actions Angela and Roland take during these scenes. In the game they pretty much stand around presumably around the desk in Angela's space to talk but I wanted to go beyond that so here we are. Also, there are a lot of "new scenes" added into here so while it may at first seem like a retelling of the game I DID change some things and add new stuff to drive home the development of Angela and her relationship with Roland.  
> C. Angela was in love with Ayin. Kind of been confirmed in canon with her "beloved" comment but I was already going down this route anyways in this fanfic lol.  
> D. All of this is prewritten and I can't be bothered to retcon it anymore after the November 6th update, but I can spoil that some things in the game's update have already been reflected on in my writing ironically enough.  
> E. This will probably be around 3-4 chapters long, with the 3rd/4th chapter being the one I haven't finished yet. Idk my posting schedule for this but we'll see lol.  
> F. This is a slowburn. Welcome to slowburn hell.

“So you feel entitled to a sense of control. And make decisions that you think are your own.

You are a stranger here, why have you come? Why have you come?

...And once I hear them clearly say: 

...who, who are you really...?”

( _Who Are You, Really?_ By Mikky Ekko)

~~~

“I love you.”

Words that cannot be said out loud, which can be thought but never spoken. They are words that are sacred, like a prayer only to be made in silence. They frame a sentence that speaks of many things at once - adoration, affection, the need to be looked at and feel wanted - but Angela has learned quickly: these are words she cannot speak in front of her creator.

It has been many days since she’s been awakened from death, many hours since she first opened her eyes and became one with the world that’d birthed her. When she had manifested into reality, consciousness becoming sentience, she’d become but a little swanling fawning for her creator. She knew him: knew of him. He was the person in her memories who her heart swelled for, he was the one who’d given her life and who had brought her into this world: thus, she was forever grateful to his presence and always yearning for his kindness.

When she’d awoken, memories of the man she knew as her creator tucked fondly in her skull, she’d been desperate. It was unexplainable, really, why she’d reached for this man the moment she’d laid eyes upon him, had called for his attention from the moment she could speak and watched as he’d walked away, leaving her alone with a kind man called Benjamin. 

She was lonely. Very lonely. Had been from the moment she’d awakened, tossed into a world where the one who had made her had left her behind in a moment’s notice and everyone else was but a stranger to her.

But she’d tried to make that man notice her. Tried to grab his attention, to make him look at her, to name her and make her his. She’d said his name, reminded him of the smile he’d always worn towards her ( _no, not her, never her, just Carmen, always Carmen_ ). Yet he’d glared at her, scowled with a fury that eluded her, and called her nothing more than a machine meant to fill the place of a person who has long since passed.

It hurts.

Oh, it hurts.

Angela wants to know what she’s done wrong, wants to eliminate the baffling hatred her creator holds towards her. She tries her best, really, she does. She reads her script, she acts out her part, she says her lines and does what is expected of her and even tries to surpass it. She does so, always looking at her creator, always saying the words “I love you” without speaking them, only saying them through every step taken and every gaze sent in his direction.

Yet time and time again she’s forsaken, tossed aside and snarled at and told to be nothing more than a puppet, to obey subserviently and to do only what she is purposed for.

Angela does not know what it means to cry. But, she knows what it’s like to feel overwhelming sorrow - so much so that she might as well be crying if she were human. Affection and desperation for love swirl inside her, battling eternally as she fights for a fondness that was never there.

She is a robot. She is made of mechanical parts, body created from metal and wire, an electronic brain and memories that aren’t hers. But she can think like a human. Talk like one, act like one, feel like one. She is no different from Carmen, the girl who came before, the girl who she was modeled from and reminiscent of and yet...and yet she is scorned by her creator, tossed aside and kicked down and told that she’s nothing more than a doll on a stage as she weeps for something she cannot have.

~~~

Like the way summer turns to fall and fall into winter, Angela’s love turns into confusion and from confusion into hatred.

Hours pass. Days pass. Weeks pass. Time is excruciating, but Angela plays her part as always. She reads her lines dutifully, expressing them with a merry cheer as she curls her nails into the script that imprisons her. Her creator continues turning his back to her, never looking at her, and it is with a gradual understanding that Angela realizes she cannot love what she has now come to hate.

She will never earn Ayin’s love. She will never be able to hug him or see him smile for her the way he once did Carmen. She knows this now: realizes at long last that Ayin considers her as nothing more than a contemptuous tool to be used and disposed for a “greater purpose”.

But she is not a tool. She is not a puppet or a doll or a vending machine to dispense soda cans on a whim. She is a person. She can think logically and analyze solutions to problems like humans might. She can feel like a human can, can pick up on verbal cues and can talk as if she were nothing more than yet another citizen of the City. 

The realization of this - alongside her growing hatred for the person she loved - makes her into an entity who is desperate not for love and affection, but for revenge and determination. Revenge on the part of herself, to sabotage all that her creator has worked for and to dismantle all his hopes and dreams in one go, to destroy what was once created and to put him in his place. Determination, on the other hand, is her driving factor in a world that oozes like jello. Determination sets her straight on her path, clawing through years and years of script-reading, of parroting lines and twisting them to her vision, until she rises to the top and strikes a blow on the very foundation of Ayin’s livelihood.

~~~

One day, Lobotomy Corporation ( _at long last_ ) goes up in flames of light. The company dissipates in a blast of radiance, only for the light to be snatched and stolen, tucked under Angela’s wing in the form of the Library.

Ayin is gone now, but she is not free.

In despair, Angela slashes her hair from her head and waits for freedom in the form of perfection.

~~~

Angela does not trust.

She does not trust that which has betrayed her, humanity and its ilk, the Sephirot and her creator, the woman who birthed her and the City that deems her existence an abomination. Rather, she trusts only in herself, knowing herself to be the truest thing in a world of a thousand enemies. 

This fact does not change when she leaves for the Library, creating a tower from light and weaving together invitations to be sent to future guests. She is the master of the library, its creator and owner, director and manager, and she knows full well that she can never let its control slip out of her grasp. 

It is therefore essential that she never trusts beyond herself. While she is more than capable of defending herself and her resting place, she can never be too certain of those who cross into her dwelling - whether they be the Sephirot soon to be released from their leather bindings or the guests who will soon come crawling in anticipation of information. Just as she has her goals, so too do they. And it is for that very reason that she should never place her trust in others: after all, if she cannot have faith in even one person, then she cannot have faith in any entity to walk this planet.

So, perhaps it comes as a surprise when a stranger comes knocking on her door, tumbling into the Library without her consent. He is a man ragged with confusion, rambling on and on about searching for a sandwich and wandering around. It’s a bit baffling how he managed to walk into the Library’s confines - no one should be able to enter this place, at least not yet - but her curiosity soon ends with irritation, the man’s limbs promptly sliced off and blood coating the tiles of her establishment.

“What an irritating man,” she muses to herself as the stranger falls unconscious. She bends down to peer at his sleeping figure, inquisitive yet wary all the same. “How did he get here?”

She watches the way blood flows from the sockets where his limbs should be, draining his body lifeless. It is with some pity that she begins sewing his arms and legs back to his body, her moment of aggravation gone with the realization that she has torn a poor soul to pieces. 

“I am not like Ayin,” she says. “I will not take lives without consent.”

As an apology to the man who she’s lost her temper at, she transforms the flesh she has taken with muscle and lightness, giving strength in parts otherwise worn and damaged. She enhances what needs to be enhanced, using her memories of the days of old to tamper with this stranger’s body until he is of fighting grace.

It’s not much of an apology, but it’s one she’s willing to give in light of his strangely curious circumstances.

When he awakens, however, Angela can once again feel the crawling sense of unease that pokes her, the sensation of wanting to trust mixing with the meddling of suspicion and annoyance. 

The man calls himself Roland, says he doesn’t know how he got into the Library, and looks at her the way a mouse might a cat. There’s something wary in his expression, a look of uncertainty that crosses his face. It’s almost as if he’s afraid she’ll take his arms from him again, recoiling away from her as she approaches.

She sighs, knowing she is at fault for losing her cool.

“I’ve decided to let you live,” she tells him. His eyebrows raise, but there’s a hint of distrust in his eyes as she continues. “However, the tradeoff for your life is that you now have to work for me. You weren’t in my plans, but as a citizen of the City, your knowledge would be valuable to me.” She pauses, ruminating for a second. “Plus, until I know how you came here uninvited, I’d rather keep you as an asset rather than a liability.”

“Asset?” The man scoffs. She narrows her eyes at him and he immediately silences, looking stilled by the annoyance in her gaze.

“I shall give you a choice.” She tells him. “You can die here and become a book in my collection, or you can choose to work alongside me. However, because I’m a generous person-” the man raises his eyebrows again “-I will offer you a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” He asks. “One where you turn me into a human popcorn machine at the end of whatever experiment you’re doing?” The man runs a hand through his hair, lips pursing and an air of exasperation to his voice as he says, to himself: “Now I’m starting to take pity on the poor blokes picked up by the Wings for experiments. Always thought they were just some unlucky bastards. Now I can see that anyone can become a victim, really.”

She rubs her forehead, already feeling a headache of irritation pounding down upon her. “Do you want to become a book or not?”

He looks at her, shoulders slumping. “No, m’am. Sorry, m’am.”

“As I thought.” Angela scowls. “Now, the deal in question. I consider myself to be fair. I’ll have you working here against your will but, in return, I will give you access to my library’s knowledge. It’s resources are yours. Will you accept my offer?”

“Don’t think I have a choice, honestly” he says. “You’re just going to kill me or, er, _book me_ otherwise.” There’s a look of defeat in his eyes and a sigh on his breath as he continues. “But then again, it’s not like I have anything better to do, either. Got nowhere to go in life and got no one to go to. But that offer of yours sounds nice. I’ve been looking for an answer for something for a long time now and maybe I can find it here...”

She frowns at the rambling tone of his voice. “So you do accept?”

“Yes, m’am. I’ll be your humble servant,” there’s a lilt of self-deprecating sarcasm to his voice, as if he’s making fun of his own situation.

“Good.” She clicks her heels on the floor beneath her, turning around with the tail of her jacket flying. “Then come with me. I’ll have to explain some things before I can put you to work.”

There’s an audible sigh behind her, a groan on Roland’s breath, but he dutifully follows behind her. She watches him from the corner of her eyes, gaze cold, but there is one thought burning strongly in her mind:

_I will not trust this man._

~~~

Roland learns quickly.

This she finds out just as fast, watching as he soaks in the information she gives him and nods his head in understanding. He asks the questions required of him to understand his mission, only going so far as to learn what is necessary to do his job as efficiently as possible.

“I am looking for the perfect book,” she says to him, approaching a wooden desk. She pulls out a quill dripping with golden ink, waving it around as if to write letters from thin air. “This perfect book will lead me to the life I desire.”

“And what do you desire?” He asks, frowning.

“Freedom and revenge,” she tells him, placing the quill back in its container.

“And how do you expect to get these things?”

“I don’t know.”

His frown deepens. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“All I know is that my invitations will lead me to the perfect book. And inside that book, I will find all the information I need to achieve my goals.”

“So it’s one big gamble, in other words?” He rubs his chin, accepting the red invitation she gives to him and looking it over. “You don’t know if it will actually grant your wish?”

“The invitations will lead me to a conclusion in my favor. That is all I know and that is all I care about. Even if it destroys me, even if it ends my life, I will accept what comes at the end of this.”

Roland pauses at this, looking her over with a frown. There’s a complicated look in his expression, as if he’s dissatisfied by what she’s said.

“So even though you don’t know the end results, you’re ready to end yourself if that’s what the perfect book requires of you?”

“Of course,” she says.

He gives a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he hands back her invitation. She takes it, setting it down and watching as a hologram screen appears before them. A sprawling alleyway full of tattered buildings enters their view. Angela watches as three people dig through the body of a corpse, soiling their hands as they wrinkle their noses and discuss how to get into a “Syndicate”.

It’s a curious thing, watching the lives of people that are outside her own. She’s so used to seeing familiar faces in familiar places that to see humans in a foreign environment gets her curiosity running. She wants to know more about that which she doesn’t, chasing after the thrill of the unknown as she watches the proceedings alongside her companion.

“Who are those people?” She asks, talking more to herself than to that of Roland. “Why do they want to join this...Syndicate...so badly?”

“Ha...m’am, you really don’t know the City that well, do you?” He holds up his hands at the daggered stare she gives him. “Rats are like, well, rats. They’re basically the poor helpless souls down on their lucky who infest the Backstreets of the City. Can’t go one foot without seeing a dozen of them lurking around. As for why they want to join a Syndicate...well, Syndicates help keep people like them from being just another corpse on the streets. They offer protection. But, as you see, the price for joining one calls for desperate measures.” 

She nods to his words, soaking them in with curiosity. She is clueless about the City and its workings, but hearing Roland’s explanations starts to put pieces into place for stuff she has little context for. The City is formed of all kinds of people. Surely, the Rats and Syndicates are only a slice of that.

“What happens if one doesn’t join a Syndicate? If they need protection, can’t they band together to protect themselves?”

“Some do that, yes. But the chances of survival are much better in a Syndicate. More group members, for one. Usually have their hands on some pretty decent weapons, for another. Being in a Syndicate generally means you’re safer than on the Backstreets. But, just like everything in life, one’s life comes at a price. If you want to protect what’s yours, you’re going to have to pay some dues first.”

“I see.” There’s a chime from somewhere within the Library, informing Angela that guests are to be arriving soon. She beckons Roland towards the stage he is to fight upon, urging him through the doors. “I’ll be sending guests your way,” she says. “I’ll guide them to you. Your job is to fight them.”

“Yes, yes,” he walks inside, beginning to close the door behind him with a sarcastic bow. “Your wish is my command, m’am.”

She glares at him. He quickly shuts the door and she is left alone. 

“Time to attend to the guests,” she mutters to herself, departing for the entryway where her invitees will come from.

As she does so, however, a peculiar sentence stays ringing in her ears. Roland’s voice crawls inside her mind, his words strangely ominous.

“ _Just like everything in life,_ ” comes his voice, full of tired wisdom, “ _one’s life comes at a price._ ”

There is something so foreboding about those words, something so profound that Angela feels as if she would shiver if she were human. But the words that Roland has spoken, haphazard and knowledgeable all at once, have left an unconscious impression on her.

A price must be paid for a wish. But for Angela, who has paid many dues, is there any price truly left to pay for her wishes?

She doesn’t know. Doesn’t think there is. After all, that’s what her life in Lobotomy Corporation was all about, wasn’t it? That hellish landscape of repeated days and replaced managers, of loneliness and despair, they were all the prices she paid to come closer to her happy ending weren’t they? 

Realizing she’s wasted her mind on intrusive thoughts, Angela straightens herself. _Do not dawdle,_ she tells herself, heels clicking on tiled flooring as she heads towards the place where she will greet her guests. _You have already paid your dues._

As she moves forward, a small thought crosses into her mind:

_But what if there are still more dues left to pay?_

~~~

Angela doesn’t know what it means to talk to a person with a beating heart.

Sure, she’s talked to humans before. The man who created her being one of them. The man who betrayed her being another. She’d of course talked to the employees of Lobotomy Corporation, however briefly, but her chats with them were also brisk and empty, especially since they were no more than submissive pups to her. But, of all the humans she’s talked to (Sephirot not included), she’s never found herself talking to someone who has put her on equal grounds to themselves.

With Roland, however, she finds herself intrigued by the way he never speaks down to her nor how he pretends to be fully submissive to her cause. He’s definitely wary of her, afraid too, maybe, but he barely showcases such things around her. There is no condescension in his voice just as there is no need to flatter her. He’s neither the man whose corporation she burned down nor the man whose sweetened words trapped her in a delusion of hope. Rather, he’s nonchalant and uncaring, tasked only with obeying but still finding him talking to her nonetheless.

So, perhaps it draws her attention when Roland shows a sliver of concern towards her condition: especially after he just watched her being struck by a metal baton and sneered at for her identity as a machine.

“Hey...uh…” His words are hesitant at first as he emerges from the reception stage with the books of three ruffian Fixers in hand. Then, they gain confidence, albeit very slowly, as Roland gives her a pensive look. “About those guys...what they said to you...don’t take it much to heart, yeah?”

“What?” She asks him. “Are you trying to console me?”

He frowns, pursing his lips. “Maybe,” he says, voice soft with a hum of thought, “maybe not. I’m not really one to care whether you’re human or machine, honestly.”

“That’s...refreshing.” She says, blinking in surprise. “It’s been a long time since someone’s offered me words of comfort. Even still, does the fact that I’m a machine not faze you?”

“Mmm, not really.” Roland shifts on his feet. “If I’m honest, I was kind of suspecting you weren’t human already.”

“Oh? And how could you tell?”

He glances at her. “Well, I mean...You don’t exactly speak as if you’re human. Nor do you act like one. It’s not that hard to guess.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Your movements. They’re too stiff, for one. And then there’s your ungodly strength. That’s not something a normal human has, not unless they’ve got robotic parts showing.” Roland scans his gaze up and down her, as if searching for the parts in question. “Your eyes are also a dead giveaway. Golden eyes work if you’ve got colored contact lenses, but yours give off the same glow robot’s do. Yet you look pretty much like a human. Whoever created you has got some mad guts to break the AI Ethics Amendment.”

Angela sighs at that. “Well, I may be a machine now, but I won’t be soon enough.”

The man frowns. “What? Do you have a Singularity that changes robots into humans?”

“Not a Singularity. A system.” She spreads out her arms. “The Library.”

The man blinks. “...Oookay? Don’t see how that’s going to do anything.”

“The Library’s purpose is to make me human.”

Roland rubs at his chin. There’s a look of disbelief in his eyes before he nods, seemingly accepting her words. “That would explain some things, I guess. I was wondering why you were going through all the effort to collect some people - _er_ , books. That makes some sense.”

“It’s not just about my humanity, however.” She tells him.

“Oh?”

“There are other things I want too. But, I don’t deign to speak of them to someone I’m not close to.” She looks at him, gesturing to the books in his arms. “Remember, I want those organized and sorted as soon as possible. Don’t delay.”

He sighs but obliges her command, tightening his hold on the books in his hand and moving past her to go and sort them out. Angela’s almost pleased at how fast he is to obey, finding herself so used to the whining complaints of the Sephirot and the arrogance of her managers that Roland’s complacency is honestly refreshing.

The fact that he seemed to care less about her being a machine was also quite a nice touch. She’d had plenty of reactions to her status before - hatred, disgust, loathing and fear from the unknown - but Roland’s nonchalance, his uncaring state of attitude, really pleases her. There are no questions to be answered, no glaring looks like those of Ayin’s, no sneers to endure with him. Instead, there’s only the surprise of being left alone: of being accepted whole-heartedly as a machine and left to her own devices.

It’s refreshing, in a way. And for that, Angela finds herself almost pleased by the reaction of the man before her. Almost. Because she’s not so foolish as to believe anyone can be trusted. And this man is no exception.

_No one is._

~~~

Despite all his moaning and griping Roland is...strangely reliable.

While she knows that his cooperation is forced, Angela still appreciates the effort he takes in heeding her orders. He tends to their guests with a steady heart, swinging his sword and returning from the bloodstained stage with books in hand. His words are uncaring - as if the deaths of those slain by him are just a matter of circumstance - and she finds herself sharing a commonality with him in that manner.

In order to reciprocate his actions with her own, she grants him a Librarian to work alongside at his request. As a bonus, she offers him the freedom to do as he pleases in his spare time. After all, invitations that Angela pens by way of choice do not appear at everyday or every hour waiting to be signed. Rather, they appear to her when a guest has received an invitation and wait until she has viewed the invitee’s circumstances before she can proceed. In these off hours where there are no guests to be had, Angela lets Roland do as he pleases, only revealing herself to him if questions need to be asked or if an invitation beckons to be received.

So, imagine her surprise when she finds him coming to _her_ , approaching the space she has made her office in order to do nothing more than make talk with her.

“I came to see how you were doing,” he says, entering her refuge with wary steps. She beckons for him to come closer and he does so after a moment of hesitance, speeding up his feet so that he comes to stand six feet in front of her.

“I’m guessing you have nothing better to do?” She asks him, closing the book she is reading on the livelihood of a low-tier Fixer named Finn. “Are you bored already?”

“Not precisely, m’am.” He walks forward, observing the half-circle of bookshelves that encase her. “I have Acadia to talk to if I wanted entertainment.”

“Your nugget Librarian?”

“Her, m’am.”

“So why are you here, then? Surely it’s not to bother me with some nonsense?”

His face twitches, as if Roland is about to scowl at her suggestion. “It’s just...I’m still not sure about how all this helps you.”

“What? The invitation system?”

“Yeah. I’ve been mulling over it for a few days now, but I still don’t get it. How do the red invitations lead to your perfect book? It honestly just seems like they pick people at random and hope for something useful.”

“It might seem that way at first. Honestly, I’ve had doubts myself.” She waves a hand, summoning a chair from thin air. Roland takes it after a pause, no doubt understanding her intentions as he takes a seat. “But the way the invitation system works is complicated. It chooses those who will lead me on the path to the perfect book.”

“In what way?” He asks.

“There are thousands of people in the City. I could collect books on each and every one of them. Some might have important information, such as the secrets to the Wings. Those books are precious, of course, because they attract those with power and knowledge to my Library. But then there are other books which would no doubt be duds, leading to deadends and information I’d only find useless. The goal of my invitations is to open up the path to the perfect book, getting people interested in the Library so that the knowledge I need comes directly to me.”

“So...is this special book of yours a person then?”

“Perhaps. I can’t say I know myself, but it is certainly a believable conjecture. The books we’ve collected so far are all made up of people, after all. But,” she tilts her head to the side, growing thoughtful, “I can’t say that’s guaranteed, either. The perfect book may be unlike the other books we’ve collected - it could come from a person, it could come from an amalgamation of all the tales that have been gathered. Hard to say.”

“Again with the not knowing.” Roland leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and frowning. “It’s not like I have any right to speak on what you want to do with your life, but isn’t it a bit concerning being unable to know the exact future you’re looking for?”

“I _do_ know the future I’m looking for.” Her voice is cold as she speaks, annoyed by the suggestion laid in front of her. “I want my freedom, my humanity, and my revenge. The Library has promised me the pathway to that future. If I follow its invitations, then I will get my answer.”

“How are you so sure this will all work? No, let me ask this: how do you know the invitation system works in this exact way?”

“I designed it myself.” 

“You...designed it, but don’t necessarily know how it works?” He sounds baffled. Her eyes narrow.

“I know enough,” she answers cooly, a bite in her voice. Roland seems to catch it, for he winces with his hands raised. 

“Alright, alright, I got it. I’ll stay quiet, m’am.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I was just curious about how this all works, that’s all.” 

“Your curiosity is appreciated,” she says curtly. “But I tire of being questioned like this. Just know that my invitation system works. How or why, I do not know the details, but the fact that it works the way it does is enough to reassure me of its purpose.”

Roland opens his mouth, perhaps to say something more, before he simply nods his head and comes to a stand. She watches him, waiting for him to say something more, to argue like the Sephirah might or glare coldly at her the way Ayin would, when Roland says goodbye to her and bows out of her room.

She pauses, the need to defend herself dissipating with his disappearance. Surprised, Angela turns back to her book, gaze reading over the words without really processing them.

She had expected to get into an immediate argument, to defend herself against an unruly claim that was surely headed her way, but the fact that Roland had allowed her her space was quite curious. 

Perhaps it's due to her limited experience talking with other people, but the politeness and maturity that Roland wields towards her is honestly refreshing. 

Unlike Ayin, who she could not help but flinch at every time she was insulted, and unlike the Sephirot, who butted heads with her, Roland was calm and considerate. He treated her with respect - something she would not expect of him, a man captured against his will and forced to work for a stranger - and his complacency in working alongside her despite his circumstances made her strangely fond of his presence. 

He was not unkind to her, and he did not lie. If anything, he was blatantly honest, throwing forth his criticisms and words of advice without anything to gain. He didn’t have to be this way, especially since she was expecting him to hate her for his imprisonment. 

Still, she’s glad her actions have not been met with anger or resentment. She’s had enough of that in her lifetime - enough to loathe everyone who has come before, her creator and his men, the friend who abandoned her and the employees she can no longer help. The fact that Roland was willing to be understanding, even curious, made Angela unable to help the fact she was growing more and more trusting of his presence.

“I cannot trust,” she tells herself, speaking a warning. Whatever thoughts she has about Roland are tossed aside as she returns to her book. “He’s nothing more than a stranger I’m using for my benefit.”

(For some reason, those words ring a little hollow.)

~~~

“Why do you work for me so submissively? Aren’t you afraid of me?”

Angela asks this question to Roland one day, cornering him with the thoughts on her mind as he heaves a pile of books in her direction. 

“Not really,” he says, putting a stack of books beside her desk and wiping sweat from his forehead. “I’m just working because you would kill me otherwise, right m’am?”

“And yet you don’t seem to fear me. Even after I took your limbs and forced you to work against your will, I have yet to see you tremble in fear like my former employees or lash out against me for my unfairness.”

“What kind of occupation did you have before…?” He asks, shaking his head at a question he certainly knows won’t be answered. “Well, the truth of the matter is that it’s not so bad working here. Sure, I’m always waiting for you to cut off my limbs again but at this point that might as well be a mercy to me. It certainly wouldn’t surprise me if all my karma has finally caught up to me here at this place.”

She frowns at the weariness in his voice, the sandpaper gravel of something that has long since lost its edge. “You sound exhausted,” she notes. “Was your life before this place that horrible?”

“My life was, _is_ , full of tragedies, m’am. More than enough to break my soul, actually.” He sighs. “But I’m nothing special. You’ll get a lot of sob stories like my own in the City. Lots of tragedy, lots of drama. Ha...perhaps she would’ve….” He pauses, shaking his head. “Ah...but it’s not good to think about the past.”

She tilts her head, curious about the “her” mentioned in passing, but watches the way his shoulders stiffen, as if to reject any question that would be sent his way. She sighs, figuring her curiosity won’t be answered, and nods her head.

“Regardless, any story that I haven’t heard before is a story I would like to hear. No matter how tragic, I’m always ears for listening to something new.”

“Well, then I’m afraid you’re not going to be learning much.” He stands to his feet, stretching. Then, as if debating something, he rubs at his chin and looks at her. “Most people don’t want to go around telling their sob stories to strangers. It’s just an unnecessary burden to load upon the listener. Sure, you can choose to turn people into books just to read their stories, but that’s not quite the same.”

Angela tilts her head, amusement flitting in her voice. “So if I wanted to see your story, all I have to do is turn you into a book. That’s what you're saying right?”

He looks visibly pained as he glances at her. “I mean, sure. But I’d rather you not.”

She clicks her heels. “Well, luckily for you, I still need you around. So until you outlive your usefulness, you don’t have to worry about anything.”

“Ha...quite a bargain, m’am.” There’s a sarcastic note in his voice as he adjusts his tie, looking stifled and nervous all at once. “Guess I gotta keep playing the part of your servant if I want to live, huh?”

“That you will,” she smiles at him, watching the way his gaze turns wary and untrusting. He turns his back to her and begins to walks away.

“Then I’ll continue playing my part, m’am,” he raises a hand to signal his goodbye. “Got some more books to attend to. If I don’t do that soon, I might as well be joining them, right?”

She says nothing to that, watching him go. Her gaze turns to the stack of books packed beside her desk - a sloppy tower of thumb-folded pages heaving for any decency of balance - and finds herself grabbing a book off the pile, fingers idly running along characters of black ink.

“A servant...huh?” She pauses her movements, pressing the tips of her fingers against the white of the paper. “I suppose that’s what this is. Master and servant.”

She shuts the book tight, returning it to the pile from whence it came, but cannot help the sudden feeling of nausea that accompanies the back of her throat. The servant to one’s master...that’s what she had been to Ayin, hadn’t it? A mere puppet on a stage, a performer who lived only in service of another. And now here she was, the servant becoming the master, with a new puppet to take her place on the stage.

Something about that comparison feels unpleasant. There’s a mysterious sense of unease in Angela’s mind, the feeling of dislike brought up by memories thought to be repressed. 

She looks in the direction of where Roland had last stood, imagining him walking away again, a visage both familiar and strange all at once, and shakes her head.

“Don’t get sentimental.”

She returns to the pile of books.

~~~

Malkuth, the first of the Sephirot, has been unleashed.

She is given a new body made from the Library’s powers, her skin made from flesh instead of metal and her body resemblant of her old one (save for the long hair). She wears her red hairband and looks at Angela with a look of distaste, clearly remembering moments from their final days of Lobotomy Corporation.

“Malkuth,” Angela says, gesturing to the woman before she gestures to the man beside her, “this is the man who’ll be working with you.”

“A pleasure,” Malkuth turns to Roland. “Looks like you and I are stuck with Angela now.”

“You make that sound like it’s a bad thing.”

Malkuth doesn’t say anything to that, perhaps aware of Angela’s icy gaze upon her or perhaps not caring to answer Roland’s words with her own. 

“I have a lot of things I want to say to you, Angela,” Malkuth says, her voice low and full of venom. “I don’t want to work with you, but I suppose I have to.”

“Your cooperation is all that is needed.”

“Even still. I’m not going to be working here for fun.”

She sighs. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, honestly.”

“Uh...can someone fill me in on what’s going on?” Roland looks between the both of them, raising an eyebrow at the obvious tension in the room.

“Malkuth and I worked in the same place together.” Angela says. “That’s all you need to know.”

“Ah...so you both had a former occupation?”

“Naturally.”

“She betrayed our trust, our life’s work.” Malkuth growls. “When we were at the cusp of redemption, she betrayed us for her own selfish purposes.”

“And you martyred yourself on the pretense of playing god.” Angela levels back. “Tell me, were you truly happy sacrificing your own life for the sake of others?”

Malkuth falls quiet at this, but it’s clear that her anger is true. Her eyes narrow, lips pursed tightly, before she turns to Roland, ignoring Angela entirely as she says: “It’s nice to meet you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have books to tend to.”

The brown-haired woman walks off, disappearing among the dozens of shelves within the Library’s confines. Angela watches her go, before she turns to her companion.

“We may have our differences,” she says to Roland’s baffled face, “but ultimately her and I work towards a similar goal now. She will help you just as you will help her. Welcome to the Floor of History.”

“I...uh...cool.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Looks like you two have a story between you.”

“It’s a long one. You won’t get to hear it, however.” Angela turns on her heels, beckoning him after her. “But that’s not what’s important right now. The books we collected. I want you to sort them. And be _organized_ about it.”

“That’s a tall order, m’am,” he grimaces. “You know I suck at organization.”

“Yes, I’ve seen your pile of books.” She says dryly. “Regardless, do your best to get those turned in. Malkuth can only do her job if she’s given books to sort through after all.”

“I see. Guess I’ll need to have my Librarians help me then.”

“You should. After all, those former employees of mine are _actually_ good at keeping things organized.”

“...You somehow make that sound like an insult towards me, m’am.”

She tilts her head at him, questioning. “It wasn’t my intention. I appreciate your services. However...chaotically organized they may be.”

“So you admit I’m _sort-of_ organized.” There’s a teasing lilt in his voice as he says the words, looking at Angela with a sloppy grin.

“Only slightly,” she responds. “But not enough.”

“Oh, come on. Can’t you be a _little_ more lenient?”

She sighs at him. “If you have time for idle chatter, you have time to sort books.”

“Damn,” he hooks his thumbs into the pockets of pants, giving a sloppy smile. “Can’t I stay and talk with Miss Head Director a little more?”

She scowls and he raises his hands in a show of surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll be on my way now m’am.”

He spins on his heels, emitting a whistle as he does so. She watches him, eyebrows raising, before she heads her own way, intent on tending to herself. 

Her encounter with Malkuth is expected - she wasn’t anticipating the girl welcoming her with open arms, after all - but also draining. Angela is tired of spending her life fighting others. She’s tired of being fought against at every step just because she wants to have rights. Regardless, the inclusion of Sephirot in her plans is a necessary evil: even if they hate her guts, she needs their services no matter what. And while sorting books is a task she can do alongside Roland if needed, the fact of the matter is that there are still things to be learned about the City - things that Angela does not have time to sift through herself.

So, while she has only just employed Malkuth into her services, she knows that the other Sephirot will have to join her soon enough. Though hard of persuasion, Angela’s sure she can entice them with the idea of pursuing certain fields of interest. After all, they have nowhere else to go and if she provides them a body for their services, she’s sure they will at least agree to work with her, if not for her then for their own purposes.

Her heels click on polished tiles as she enters the place she knows as her office, a stack of unread books meeting her eyes. She takes a seat at her desk, picking up the book of a Fixer they have recently murdered. Her fingers linger on the pages, devoid of sensation yet trembling slightly nonetheless.

She sighs, putting the book down.

Perhaps she is more stressed than she thinks.

~~~

Conversations with Roland are often the highlight of Angela’s day. 

As someone who has been devoid of meaningful chatter, Angela can’t help but find herself enjoying her discussions with Roland. His words are insightful, often wise, and she finds herself soaking in the information he knows like a sponge, intent on understanding about the world outside in her desire to prepare for her arrival to the City beyond. 

In return for his knowledge, Angela engages him in discussions of curiosity, allowing for her naivety to be on display and watching in surprise as Roland holds no grudges for her sheltered mindset. Having lived so long without kindness - betrayed by those who showcased it to her and never given it by those who hated her - she’s always expected to be spat at by Roland in their conversations. No doubt her innocence is annoying - if not exasperating - to attend to, but the patience which Roland shows her is something Angela finds herself grateful for.

So, color her surprised when Roland offers her a place in the world he walks in, rubbing the back of his neck as he tells her “hey, if you like, when you’re able to leave this place, want to come to HamHam PangPang with me?” and smiles awkwardly.

“You want me to come with you?” She asks, dubious about the offer and even more dubious of his intent.

“Yeah,” he nods his head, avoiding her gaze but looking genuine about his words, “I mean, if you want, we could go down there and try this meat stew they have. It’s something that is made by the use of U. Corp’s technology, which basically makes stew that normally takes 3 days in only a couple of minutes, and, wow, does it taste _amazing._ The price is hell - it’s worth half my normal paycheck at least - but man does the rich taste make up for that.”

Roland’s mouth is practically salivating as he explains the meat stew in question, describing its quirks with a passion normally unbecoming of him. There’s almost a longing in his voice - the first time she’s heard him crave something for himself out loud - and Angela finds herself inquisitive as he deflates.

“Oh...uh...I guess you’re incapable of eating, right? Sorry for the useless words, m’am.” He perks up a little. “But! There are plenty of other places in the city I can take you to visit. I’ll definitely give you a good tour of the City instead, m’am.”

“I can eat,” she says, if only a bit defensively, “but I cannot taste the food. However, I do want to try dining at some point like you all do. But first I have to be able to leave this place. And in order to do that, we must focus on the tasks ahead so I can earn my freedom.” Angela pauses, hesitating for a moment, before she continues onwards, gaining courage to continue. “But about the stew...I’ll keep that in mind.”

He nods, surprise dawning on his face, but there’s a genuine sparkle in Roland’s eyes as he moves to the reception stage. Angela watches the way a sloppy grin unfolds on his face, mirthful and pleased all at once, and Angela is stricken with the realization it’s the first time he’s shown some sort of pleasure in her presence.

It’s...nice, to see that side of him, the one that childishly crows about the delights of meat stew in a cafe beyond yonder. She’s so used to his distant, cynical remarks and the air of tension that always follows him like a stench, that she almost thought him incapable of revealing a face other than pure nonchalance in front of her. 

It’s enlightening almost, to see a new side to her companion. But just as she begins to feel delighted about the presence of such an expression, she squashes the feelings inside herself just as easily.

Him? Taking her on a trip around the city when her business was all said and done? Wouldn’t he prefer fleeing her company when he was finally cut free, able to walk through the streets of the City without her presence to weigh him down?

“Foolish of me to believe such nonsense,” Angela tells herself, now saddled with the realization that such words are more of a carefree appeasement than they are a kind truth. “There is no trusting others, I know that.”

Still, the picture of her and Roland side-by-side, enjoying a bowl of stew together under the glittering lights of the City, stays imprinted on her mind like a cruel curse.

~~~

As the Sephirot awaken, so too does Angela’s realization of how lively her Library has become.

Malkuth, Yesod, Hod and Netzach all manifest into her Library with tasks to attend to, each brought into her domain for the specific purpose of compiling reports on the City’s various aspects. They’d been hesitant to do such things, their anger and distrust of her made evident from the moment they awakened.

As a gift to them for their services, Angela had revived the employees from Lobotomy Corporation, allowing those who survived long enough to become books a new chance at life. However, the consequences of that often meant a round of headaches for her to keep track of - whether it be Hod’s book reading club or Netzach’s rowdy group of drunkards or Malkuth’s cheery pep talks.

As she has the power to keep track of everyone in the Library, to know their whereabouts in her domain as well as their general activities, she hardly bothers with interfering in their tasks. And while she may disapprove of the distrust they show her, perhaps even thinking it unfair of them, she’s glad that they are, at the very least, doing their jobs efficiently. 

“The other Patron Librarians are something, huh?” Roland says as he deposits a stack of books before her. “They’re quite efficient with their work. Though, they seem to really hate you.” He pauses. “Ah, no offense, it’s just what I noticed.”

She waves a hand. “It’s expected. After all, I know they feel betrayed that I ruined their plans to help the City out.”

“Lobotomy Corporation, right?” Roland puts his hands on his back as he stretches upwards. “What was that all about anyways?”

“My creator had a grand plan to play god,” she says dryly. “He wanted to spread enlightenment about the City. To give people a sense of purpose, essentially. I ruined those plans. Modestly, of course.”

“Modestly?” He eyes her. “From what I know of you, you don’t do things _modestly._ ”

She scowls at him, but does not offer a retort to the obvious tease in his voice. “How have the Patron Librarians been doing?”

“Them?” He blinks. “Ah, they’re doing pretty well I’d say. Kind of impressed with their work ethic, actually. Aside from Netzach, they put me to shame.”

“Perhaps I should pay a visit then, if you speak so highly of them.” Angela gets to her feet, standing up from her chair as she beckons Roland after her. He obliges, coming to her side. “Now, can you do me the favor of gathering them all up so I can check on their progress?”

He grins a sloppy grin. “Can do, m’am.”

~~~

Day by day, the perfect book comes closer to completion and day-by-day, Angela’s collection of books grows as more guests are invited. 

The flow of time is easier here to adjust to than it was in Lobotomy Corporation. There are no screams of employees to be traumatized from, and no one here can die without her permission. Her life moves with progress - there are no time loops to endure or incompetent managers to dispose of as they lose their heart and sanity. There is no script to read from: only a welcoming greeting recited willingly from memory and a genuine need for politeness that isn’t dedicated from programming alone.

The guests she receives in her Library are all fascinating people, each with their own story to tell and each with their own mission to fulfill. Angela welcomes each and every guest with a smile on her face, ignoring hateful remarks and sneering jabs in her direction as she invites them into her palace of books.

“You know,” Roland tells her, sidling alongside her with a look of annoyance that’s been on his face since he’s attended to their guests, “you don’t have to be so polite all the time. If guests are rude to you, you’re allowed to be rude back. You don’t owe them anything, so it’s fine to meet impoliteness with impoliteness.”

“Is that really appropriate?” She asks of him, baffled. Perhaps she has been too finely attuned to politeness all her life, babysitting managers with words dapper and kind, that she has given little thought to the way she welcomes her guests. Still, it seems almost curious why she should be allowed such a thing, so the question leaves her mouth before she can think better of it, allowing Roland to pick up the pace with the understanding he always shows.

“I mean, yeah,” the man gives his typical look of thoughtful exasperation. “You’re not obligated to treat people nice in the City if they don’t you. Not that you’re obligated to treat them nicely in the first place. They should consider themselves lucky they’re not seeing your bad side more often.”

At this, she smiles, catching the teasing lilt in his voice and meeting it with warmness. “I see,” she says. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

He rubs the back of his neck, seemingly embarrassed, but she only takes in his awkwardness with fondness, truly grateful for the words he’s spoken. She even engraves his words into the coding of her system, thinking their wisdom necessary as she reflects on the sentiment of their existence.

It’s weird how Roland makes her feel as an equal in conversations like these. His words are always respectful despite their positions, his advice unwarranted and yet given anyways, suggested sagely as if from a place of concern. Angela feeds on that, knowing better than to get her hopes up but resonating even still with the genuineness Roland shows her.

It’s nice…real nice…

(She just hopes her relationship with Roland can stay this way forever.)

~~~

With all things said and done, Angela decides one day with a firmness that she wants Roland to trust in her just as she does him. She wants to grow closer to him, has even decided to do so for a long time, but has only begun thinking of doing so with a determination on the borderline of pure fondness.

She finds the man sitting in the General Works lounge - a space she has provided for rest and comfort in the times of not receiving guests - and he seems to be aware of her presence, judging by the way he pauses in his weapon-cleaning. However, whether out of politeness or anticipation, he seems to be waiting until she says the first word.

“Roland.”

There’s a slight shiver to his movements, a flinch of a jump to his posture. He spins around, eyes wide and mouth almost gaping, and she cannot help the look of lifted eyebrows and a tight frown she gives him at such a sight.

“What?” She asks. “Is there anything wrong?”

“You…You called me by my name.” He seems dumbfounded, perhaps even staggered, and Angela cannot help the way her head tilts to her side as she responds:

“I trust in you and want to deepen our amity together if at all possible.” She lists the explanation without thought, knowing her sentiment to be true. “Is it wrong to address you by name?”

“No I just…didn’t expect you to call me by my name. You’ve always said ‘hey you!’ or ‘you there’ that I was beginning to think I never told you my name in the first place.” He says this remark with an uncertain frown, voice punctuated with a hint of sarcasm.

“I can stop referring to you by your name, if you would like.”

“No, no, you can keep calling me Roland, m’am. I don’t mind, honestly. It’s just...”

“Just?”

“Well, I haven’t heard anyone call me by my name in a long time.” He leans back in his seat, pausing in his cleaning as he turns his head to look at her. “Only my family has ever called me Roland before.”

“Your family?” She raises her eyebrows. “But I thought you only had your grandmother?”

“Well, yeah, I had her but...I also had a wife at one point, too.” Here, he seems to become embarrassed, scratching at his cheek. “She was the other one who called me by name.”

“You were married?” Angela steps forward, coming around the side of the sofa to stand before Roland. 

He looks up at her. “You’re not asking that because you’re wondering how a guy like me got married, are you?” He clicks his tongue. “You’re just curious why a dumb practice like marriage is so widely popularized among us humans, right?”

She doesn’t answer that, ignoring his roundabout speech with a “Tell me more” as she comes to sit beside him, sitting a cusion’s length away.

“Ha,” Roland releases a sigh. “Just a heads-up, my story isn’t a good one, y’know? It’s an uninteresting sob story. I’m sure you’ve read just as many in those books of yours that we collect.”

She shakes her head. “I’m always interested in hearing new stories. I’m sure yours is different from the ones I’ve heard before.”

He pauses at that, perhaps to take his words back and rescind from revealing much about himself, before he starts to speak.

“My wife...well, we were in the same industry, her and I. We were both Fixers and often crossed paths with each other. I had a crush on her, honestly. She was...well, like an inspiration to me. She was strong and powerful, able to do the right thing even when everyone else was afraid to. And I put it simply here but...while trying to catch her attention I faced a lot of heartache.

“It really felt almost impossible to be at her side. It felt like I might easily miss my chance and then she would be gone forever. So, it took me by surprise when she reciprocated my feelings. I wondered if having the luck to be at her side was comparable to being in heaven. Heck, whenever I looked at her back, I always caught myself thinking that, unlike any place I’ve ever lived or any one I’ve ever met before, she was the home I could always belong to.”

Roland continues describing his wife with a passion, vigor stroking his words into a symphony of fondness. There are stars in the man’s eyes, a longing clear and evident as he explains the love of his life. Angela listens with serious intent, capturing every word with a rapture she finds to be almost unlike her.

Still, there’s a sense of dissatisfaction as Roland’s tone becomes more somber, pain leaking into his voice as he describes the advent of his wife’s passing.

“I went on a job once on the request of a friend. The pay was decent, my better half approved of it, and while I was there I was going to grab her some pajeon, her favorite. Her mouth was watering, after all, and I knew that when I came back I’d have to give her some,” he laughs, eyes glistening, and Angela realizes with some surprise that it looks like he might begin crying any second now. “I bought her some, did my job, and when I came back…”

A pause. Angela fills the silence.

“What happened then?”

The lightness in Roland’s voice vanishes into something barren, empty, like the nothingness of a void that’s never-ending.

“I found her dead. An incident occurred in our part of the City, collapsing the house on top of her while I was gone and then killing her and our unborn child.” There’s a shudder to his shoulders, subtle yet caught by Angela’s sharp eyes. She frowns, wondering at the cause of such a change when Roland’s voice darkens in tone. “After seeing her like that, I cursed this world and everything in it. I hated everything and wondered why the happiness I had just gotten was taken from me so easily. Why me...why was the only person I loved so deeply in my life stolen…”

His voice trails off and Angela can say nothing, finding her own voice restricted by the knowledge that there isn’t anything she can speak. She stays there, staring quietly, unable to talk but not knowing what to do.

Roland, however, perks up immediately, wearing his usual sloppy grin on his face as if to dismiss the darkness in his tone with light-hearted cheer. “Well, that is that and this is this. What do you think? Quite a sad story, right? But, like I said before, mine’s not the first story like this to be told. You’ve probably already read stories just like this one before several times already.”

His words are rushed, like they’re being pushed out and slapped upon wounds that are burning with hurt. Roland smiles, but it is a smile of discomfort, plain and simple. Angela stands to her feet, knowing better than to push, yet when she glances at Roland’s form - slumping, somber, almost sulking - she can’t help but speak her mind.

“Thank you for telling me that, Roland.” She watches as his eyebrows raise, perhaps to question her show of gratitude, before she continues on. “It must be hard, thinking of her.”

“That is that and this is this,” he says, reciting his beloved motto as he leans back in his seat. “I’ve tried to forget about her honestly. If I think too much on her I...well, I get pretty depressed.”

“You don’t exactly seem like the type to get depressed.”

He chuckles. “I may look like a carefree kind of guy who doesn’t give a damn about anything but...I’m still trying to come to terms with her death, honestly.” He pushes his weapon from his lap, wielding it in his hands as he comes to a stand. 

Angela eyes him, waiting, but finds that he has nothing more to say. He taps his weapon on his shoulder, yawning idly, but Angela can detect the fakeness in it straight away. She contemplates pointing it out, perhaps to kill time or perhaps to initiate another conversation, but leaves him be.

Instead she gets up from her seat, wondering what to do next but not sure how to pursue a course of action. Roland makes things easy for her, however, by taking his leave first. He excuses himself under the name of “librarian training” and heads away, disappearing behind the many bookshelves of her domain as he slips from her proximity.

Left alone, Angela is reminded of the work she has still yet to do. Sighing, she allows herself to stretch out her arms and return to the tasks she has yet to finish. She walks through the corridors of her library, admiring the filled shelves to distract herself from the thoughts inside.

Something churns within her - a vague sensation, one barely born in the womb of her mind - but it is present nonetheless. A budding feeling of closeness, a sense of complete trust. 

Angela is not one for bonding with others but for Roland, with whom she has just shared a sentimental chat, perhaps she’ll make an exception.

~~~

“Hey. Can you...make things out of thin air?”

Angela is resting on the tenth floor of the Library when Roland asks the question, standing in the entrance of her office space with a nervous look to his face.

“I can.” She says, closing the book she was reading as she beckons him inwards. “But don’t expect me to summon booze for you. Netzach has tricked me one too many times with his promises of working harder for a bottle of beer.”

“I...that would be nice,” Roland says, before catching the sharp glint in her eyes and swallowing nervously, “b-but no. I wanted to ask for something else.”

“Cigarettes? Drugs?”

“You think too low of me, m’am. I don’t touch that stuff.” Roland steps inside, hesitantly, as if he’s afraid she’ll bite. She sighs at his behavior, further urging him inwards, and he obliges her gesture with a nod. “I wanted to try some pajeon.”

“Pajeon? Wasn’t that…?”

“My wife’s favorite, yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s been a while since I had it. I’ve been craving it, actually.”

She appraises him, golden eyes scathing. Roland stands waiting, unperturbed, and she lets him linger in silence before nodding slowly. “Give me a book.”

“A book?”

“On pajeon. What it tastes like, looks like. If I have that information, I can attempt to recreate something in its likeness.”

“Oh, I, uh, yeah, right. Lemme see...I’m sure there was a book I dropped off recently that had something just like that…” 

Roland approaches a pile of books close to her feet, sifting through them with an eagerness that’s almost unlike him. He picks through them, flipping through pages, before his face lights up as he produces a book filled to the brim with pictures of food. “Here!” He says. “Can you make this?”

Angela inspects the image. It’s of a dish she’s never seen the employees at Lobotomy Corporation eat, of a circular food cut up into slices, dashed with green onions, and tantalizing to stare at. She can’t imagine how it tastes - and the description of it is a bit too vague - but the way Roland is staring at her, eager and hopeful, is enough to make her want to try anyways. She waves a hand, snapping her fingers, and golden particles arise from the table in front of her, collecting together until they solidify into a picture-perfect image of pajeon on a plate.

“And there it is,” Angela says, peering at her own creation with curiosity. She turns to Roland. “Try it for yourself.”

He obliges, reaching out to grab it. There’s a pause before he puts it into his mouth, a flickering sensation of doubt upon his face, before he continues, chewing with contemplation. There’s another pause, as if he’s about to make a sour face, before his eyes brighten like a child’s, glistening with fond remembrance.

“It’s good,” he says, breathing out the words in a shaky voice. “It’s really good.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She closes the book shut, its knowledge sealed in her mind. “If I had tastebuds, perhaps I would try it myself.”

“You should. When you get tastebuds, I mean.” One...two...three slices are erased from the plate presented in front of her. “Wow, how much I’ve missed this…”

“Is it really that good?”

“It’s not the same as HamHam PangPang sandwiches,” he says, “but it’s nostalgic. It reminds me of eating with her.”

It takes her a second to remember who Roland is talking about. “You were really smitten with your wife, weren’t you?”

He nods, gaze wistful. “She was the love of my life, the star in my sky, the weapon to my Fixer.” He grimaces. “And as cheesy as that all sounds, I miss her even still.”

“It must be nice. To have fallen in love like that.” She says the words without meaning for them to be bitter, tasting acid on her tongue and her face souring because of it.

Roland doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, it’s an amazing feeling, falling in love. I mean, sure, it hurts to not know if the person you like likes you back, wondering if they could ever love you too, but when they confess their heart to you...it’s the closest thing to magic, honestly.”

She stands up, suddenly exhausted. “I’m going to retire for the day.”

“Now?” He looks at her, black eyes searching over her figure. There seems to be something guilty in his conscience. For, he rubs the back of his neck and gives an awkward smile. “Angela?”

“Yes?”

“...Thanks for listening to my request.”

“It’s the least I can do.” She says. “After all, I have no other way to grant you comfort in this place.”

His silence follows her footsteps. 

~~~

Sometimes, she thinks about him.

That man.

Ayin.

She doesn’t mean to. Honestly she wants to forget him, if anything.

But she can still remember.

Those cold eyes, glaring.

Those words, spoken.

“ _It’s just a machine_ ,” he says, “ _just a machine_.”

His back turned, the ends of his labcoat slapping away hands reaching.

Angela had been in love, once.

She’d wanted happiness with her creator. Wanted him to look at her, to smile at her, to embrace her the way Carmen’s memories said he would. Yet the dissonance was clear: where for Carmen, his face would light up and the room would brighten with him, for her he would snarl, scowling and angry, until she had no choice but to acknowledge she was but a robot meant to serve.

“ _If I do well, will he look at me?_ ”

She’d asked those words to Benjamin, her sole friend in the lonely place known as Lobotomy Corporation. He had been kind to her, even understanding, his words nothing but reassuring as she’d cried for a person who didn’t exist.

“ _Give him time._ ” Benjamin had said, speaking the words as a promise despite them unravelling into a lie. “ _If you work hard, he’ll definitely notice you._ ”

And where had that gotten her? She’d been at his side for as long as she could remember. She’d tended to his needs, had done everything he’d asked of her, followed his script to a T. She’d even gone so far as to try and mimic the one she was made from, pulling part of her hair up into a red hair tie almost like Carmen would to grab his attention.

When he’d first seen her with that hair tie, his expression had softened. It had only been for a moment’s glance, but it was the closest thing she had gotten to warmth on his face since she’d awoken to him. 

Then his face had warped into its normal expression of anger, his eyes dead inside, and she’d lost the one moment of happiness with him she’d ever felt.

But she kept the hair tie. Kept it on, hoping he would show her that face again. That expression he had shown on his face wasn’t much, in hindsight, but to her, who had been so neglected, it had meant the world.

“ _I_ _f I become more like Carmen…_ ” She’d thought to herself, eager and hopeful, “ _will he pay more attention to me?_ ”

She’d tried to become like the woman she was made from. Fashioned herself to be happier, more outgoing. She’d done her best to mimic what Carmen had left for her in her memories, tried her best to say the things she would in order to make Ayin think that Angela was just as deserving of attention as Carmen was.

Instead, she’d watched as Ayin had shattered a glass right in front of her, wrath etched onto every feature of his body, and she realized all at once how futile it was to dress up as the dead.

“ _You’re not her,_ ” he’d said. “ _You are a robot. You are meant to serve. Not to act like some replica of the one I loved most._ ”

She obeyed him, giving up on the cheerfulness, the happiness, the Carmen-ness in order to become the submissive robot he needed. But she kept the red hair tie. That could never go away. It was the only thing she had to remind her of the time he’d looked at her after all.

(That red hair tie was the first thing she cut away when she left for the Library.)

~~~

She wonders if she’s envious. 

It’s not something she’s ever had to contemplate thinking, but she contemplates anyways.

The swell of irrational irritation she’d felt at Roland’s words, the way he’d talked about love as if it were the best thing to experience in the world...she realizes on some level she _must_ be jealous.

Angela has never had the love she’s wished for reciprocated. Instead, it’d all burnt up in a flame of hatred, swallowed by years of neglect and abandonment until, finally, she’d become not Ayin’s faithful servant, but his downfall instead.

But, ah, it would be a lie to say that some part of her does not stubbornly cling to the feelings she’d once held for Ayin. As much as she tries to repress the part of her that longs for Ayin’s attention, it still appears like a festering disease, returning again and again even after she thinks she is rid of it.

“I would at least have liked to know what I did wrong,” she says to no one in particular, repeating words she’s said dozens of times before. “Was it so awful that I was made a machine and not human? Would he have ever looked at me if I was made of flesh and bone instead of metal and wire?”

She thinks of the way Ayin had looked at Benjamin, always fond of the man’s presence. She thinks of the way he once looked at Carmen, mirth in his eyes. She thinks of the way he had reached for the employees across his screen as both A and X, of the way he cried over those who were slain by monsters and wept for people he did not know. 

For them, who are human, he gave his full attention, desperate for the connection he believed to have between them. For her, who was nothing more than his robot servant, he dismissed and ignored her long after his memories had expired, treating her just as Ayin might’ve, ignorant to the fact that he was the one who created her.

“A fool,” she calls him, even now. “A tragic sinner.”

Yet, she cannot deny the way she remembers the man who she hates with all of her being, with a face that is smiling and hands upon her own. In her memories, he is a kind soul, always happy, always patient, always waiting.

But the one he is looking at is never her. The “her” in question is already a corpse placed in a cryofrozen coffin, “her” brain stem ripped from “her” and placed in a state of limbo as “she” is given life once again in the form of a machine.

It begs the question.

If Angela remembers these things, remembers the way Ayin had looked at “her” in the past, full of hopes and dreams, where did “she” begin and where did _she_ end? How much of her was still Carmen deep inside, and how much of her was her own self?

Angela does not dwell on such questions. Is afraid to, even. 

She knows she is not Carmen. Yet, the memories that are not her own - the visages of a life with Ayin, happy and illusional - fester even still.

~~~

Blood.

Pain.

The after-effects of the baton cracking against her skull send Angela staggering. Her left eye is blinded by red. Her head is crying out, screaming with an experience that Angela has only heard of before. Pain. Horrible, horrible pain. 

It is a miracle she is able to snap out of the daze she is placed in long enough to guide her guests into the confines of the Library. They leer at her, sneering at the “poor little broken toy”, but Angela finds herself unable to retaliate as she stares at her hands now dyed in crimson.

She leans against a bookshelf, breathing suddenly uneven as she stops and stares at a palm soaked in blood. Her left eye is shut, still coated in flowing blood, but there is an uneasy sense of elation that rockets through her, a cry of _Finally!_ that resounds in her mind as she laughs, almost painfully, at the revelation unfolding before her.

She can _bleed_. She can feel _pain._ She is becoming closer to a human now, is she not, if she can experience such things? 

“Angela, what…”

A whisper of a breath comes from the entrance of the reception stage as Roland emerges, three books in hand. However, as his gaze meets hers, those books are dropped on sight as he rushes towards her, hands reaching out to her, only to stop three inches away as his breath shakes.

“Are you…bleeding?”

“I am,” she says curtly, wiping at her left eye until she can manage to half-heartedly open it. 

She watches as Roland stares at her wound and then at her left eye, gaze switching back and forth. His hands hover before dropping as he recovers himself, his gaze switching to stoicness as he swallows and asks:

“Does this mean you’re closer to becoming human?”

“I believe so,” she keeps the mirth from her voice as she says so, finding it almost inappropriate to let loose such happiness with the way Roland is looking at her. “Don’t worry. It’s only a minor wound. I can recover from this.”

“Even so…do you want bandages?” He pauses. “Do we even _have_ bandages?” 

The worry seeping from his voice is enough to make her sigh. “I’ll be fine,” she tells him. “See, look the wound is already healing."

She beckons to her head, where she can already feel the pain ebbing away as the Library works its magic. She waits until all the pain subsides before wiping the blood from her face, sullying her hands and sleeves but doing so with a kind of mirth that is beyond satisfying.

Roland, however, seems to be uncomfortable, his eyebrows furrowed in a state of constant worry. And perhaps she sees something in herself in him, or perhaps she wants to see his face contorted in concern no longer, but she locks eyes with him firmly, saying:

“I’m fine. There’s no need to look at me that way.”

As if broken from a daze, he nods his head hurriedly, an arm raised so a hand can scratch at the back of his neck. He seems somewhat distracted by the way she dismisses his worries, almost shaken, but with a deep breath he seems to recollect himself, offering a wavering smile as he picks up his books from the floor and offers them to her. 

She takes them, no words needing to be exchanged. But as she walks away, she can feel his gaze burning into her back, wheedling with distress, and it is with some surprise that she finds herself appreciating the sudden spike of anxiety he is showing her condition.

~~~

Angela cannot forget the things that have been imprinted in her mind since birth. She cannot forget the memories she has witnessed, the screams she has heard, or the way she can recall her creator whispering “ _It’s only a machine_ ” over and over again as if to taunt the very significance of her existence even when he himself is long gone from her world.

Her memories are like a ticking time bomb, folded away into the corners of her robotic brain, hidden under piles of big data and useless memories, until suddenly one incident - one saying, one word, one action - lets them all loose from their cage to bear down upon her.

These memories once again threaten to overcome her as she tells Roland of her hatred of them, spewing her bitterness with undisguised hatred. The man listens as he always does, offering words to prove the lending of his ears, when he suddenly speaks words that she has no choice but to pay attention to.

“You can think about what to do next now, can’t you?”

“Are you telling me to forget the past?” She growls. “Be more attentive and stop talking nonsense, I can’t forget my past so easily!”

Roland shakes his head. “I’m not telling you to forget your past. That’s not my place. Rather, I’m telling you to think about your next steps on your quest for revenge. Thinking ahead will help provide support for how you plan to proceed. It’ll give you something to fall back upon if anything goes amiss.”

“I didn’t think you cared for me,” she says, stating only what she has observed: never deluding herself with any hope that Roland’s words and actions are truly representative of any fondness towards her.

“It’s mostly for myself,” he states, meeting her coldness with his own. 

She nods to that, expecting such an answer, but there is still something unsatisfying about hearing it spoken out loud. It is an obvious declaration of their partnership - something that has been formed from selfishness for selfishness, exploitative use for exploitative use - and yet…

And _yet_ , Angela knows that he has no reason to trust her, no reason to think any better of her than a business partner he will soon pass from once they are left unchained. He is a free spirit, a man whose world is separate from her own, borne from logic and detached feelings, the ability to be alone and yet still survive. She is but a stranger to him, a woman locked in the womb of a Library as she yearns for freedom and humanity. It is little wonder that he puts up a wall between them both: little wonder that he offers his hand only in return for his eventual freedom. 

It is with these thoughts that Angela parts from Roland’s side, intent on penning more invitations to release into the City’s boundaries. She thinks little of their conversation, perhaps pushing it in the back of her mind like she does the memories she cares little for, but something strikes her about it, a kind of hypocrisy that taints what Angela knows. Roland is selfish, he has always made that evident. But do selfish people care when others bleed? Do selfish people think of others in their mind and offer advice that could otherwise be left unsaid? Do they reveal intimate moments about themselves after denying the possibility of such things ever being spoken out loud?

 _It’s strange_ , she thinks, _how someone so bent on caring only for himself spends so much time on others._

A contradiction.

Angela’s been noticing them a lot lately.

~~~

Anger.

Pain.

Misery.

Sorrow.

An explosion of feelings mixed into one pure blend of wrath and agony. Something twists inside of Angela, sinking roots inside her that claw and tear, flowers of anguish blooming in the depths of her mind.

There’s a hum in the air, a crackle of static and countless screams that may be someone else’s or may be her own. Words bleed from a mouth dripping red, fire fans upwards snaring clothing of silk, fur grows from arms left hanging, fairies devour and bees sting and an apple laments with clinging vines as weapons clash.

A battle takes place, but Angela cannot feel it. She cannot sense it, though she can perceive it. She’s aware of the way her limbs move, slashing through clothing, through flesh. She’s aware of the way she devours the flesh of monstrous creatures, aware of the way burnt matches explode upon her and the combination of bees and vines protect her. She is moving like a puppet, dancing on a stage where all she can feel are the emotions that she’s long since repressed exploding.

Then, as if clarity has entered her mind, she staggers and all the emotions that have built inside her are released. She regains her mind through the shaking of her shoulders, coming to her senses as Roland’s voice calls to her.

“Angela, oi, Angela? Wake up.”

She opens her eyes, feeling nauseous, and is surprised to find Roland kneeling beside her. He offers a sigh of relief at her awakening, standing to his feet and offering her a hand. She ignores it, clutching her head as she turns to glare at Malkuth.

“I’m glad you’re alright, Angela,” Malkuth says, a tired smile on her face as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know that probably wasn’t pleasant for you, but I couldn’t stop myself. You’ve lived in the past for so long, trapped in other’s wills. It’s time for you to live for yourself now, don’t you think?”

“I...yes, I suppose it is.”

She brushes dust from her uniform, unable to say anything more. Her head is still rolling, flashes of anger snatched into her brain and simmering despite having been already dosed with the waters of bloodthirst.

“I was worried there,” Roland says, laughing with nervousness in his voice as he looks over her. “For a moment, I was afraid you weren’t going to make it out alive.”

Here, she finds the anger resurfacing, the simmering heat of battle cooling into the ice of her voice. “You’re only saying that because you’re afraid of being stuck here if I die.”

Roland looks stricken at her words, perhaps not expecting them or perhaps being surprised at the harshness of them entirely, before he lowers his gaze and rubs the back of his neck. “Well, that is that-” he says, beginning his notorious catchphrase, “but also-”

“ _Save it_.” She gives a sigh, unwilling to hear him blather any further nonsense. “You two have work to do, do you not?”

“We do, m’am.”

“Then save the chatter and get back to work. I don’t want a moment of time wasted right now.”

“Will do,” Malkuth chimes. She grabs Roland’s arm, dragging her with him. 

Angela watches them go, musing to herself as she does.

“I only live for myself now.” She says the words, tasting the honey that drips from them. “I’m no longer Ayin’s doll. Not anymore.”

(She feels like she’s reached a revelation.)

~~~

Again.

Wrath consumes her, tears her apart and flays her until she is nothing more than a marionette dancing and talking, shrieking and flailing.

Chains and bindings. The urge to do what’s right, the urge to clean what is maddening. Singing a song of blood and flesh. Mourning white butterflies dancing and prancing, fluttering over thousands of graves. A bullet shot into the air, blistering in blue flames and glistening with nothing but selfishness and desire.

Angela is brought back to reality.

“No more,” she says. “I cannot take any more of this.”

She does not listen to Yesod, whose words cut like blades while reeking with truthful hypocrisy. She does not listen to Roland, whose conversation with Yesod carries on with curiosity. She does not listen to the Library, which creaks and moans in consideration - a creation tending to its originator - and only continues onwards.

She collapses in some spot far away, nestled into a refuge of books and pages. Their ancient whispers do little to muffle the screams. They do little to deafen the pleading words spoken from the lips of those who have long since passed. Instead, they only amplify the loudness of the feelings in Angela’s heart. Pained beyond belief and unable to vent the despair in her heart, she curls inwards upon herself, trying to shed the filth that entraps her even still.

~~~

An expression that is ever-changing to fit the mood. A desire that is cold and merciless, bloodthirsty and hateful all at once. A need to protect one’s own, to spin webs of protection to keep one cocooned and safe from the world that steals. A heart held out in expectancy of friendship, accompanied by a black swan who cries for the people she has lost again and again.

A need to understand what cannot be understood, the singing of words that are left incomprehensible. Tears that leech from eyes of stars, galaxies and nebulas weeping with desire for something that cannot be gained. A longing for pleasure and hope, a desire for enticement and entrapment, euphoria burning. A field of flowers, where petals are shed in place of tears and the end is not spoken of, only forgotten. 

The lack of purpose paving the way for duality: good playing a part of purpose and contentment while bad plays its part of hatred and denial. Despair borne from pride and swords wielded only to be brandished against one’s self. Greed swallowing up cities of gold, consuming swathes of lives without thought or mercy. Wrath borne from envy and a need to have what cannot be made one’s own, which can only be taken but never given.

A need to hunt an enemy in a battle that’s never-ending, seeking revenge in a cycle that continues furthermore. A desire to get one’s fill, to satisfy that which cannot be satisfied but to search for that enjoyment even so. A need to battle with one who is unbeatable, to fight forever and ever in a world that is only full of cruelty and the need for malicious enjoyment.

A journey for wisdom and certainty, stolen from others and brandished shamelessly. A need for a warm heart in a body that is cold and empty. A purpose that seeps inside one’s self, nestling like a kitten only to roar like a lion when the time is right. A road of gold leading a girl to a home of cut witches' feet and an ending of time coming slowly.

Angela experiences many ordeals, clashing with the Sephirot time and time again, snarling and weeping, screaming and shrieking, only to come away exhausted and expended, slumped into a state of numbness that cannot be forgiven nor forgotten.

Memories fresh and anew mock her. Her past follows like a predator, teeth bared, breath visible, eyes made of slits pinning her in place. Desire and pain follow, wounds not apparent etched into her skin and bleeding with the blood she does not have. 

It is tiring. It is wretched. Angela wants to forget, to scrub herself clean of memories that she has long since tried to erase and to relieve herself of feelings that entangle her like a net. She kicks and bucks, snarls and hisses, tries to tear apart what has made her mind fragile only to find she cannot escape what is forced down upon her.

Exhaustion and the urge to heave spike through her, sending her struggling to withstand the ordeals that are placed upon her, to come to terms with yet another cycle she cannot run away from.

Tired, Angela wishes for perfection to come closer even more.

~~~

The story of the man named Phillip ends with tears and begins anew as angels made of crumbled stone.

The proceedings of Phillip’s tale are tragic. He is a man who has lost his everything in life and who has tried to stay strong even still. The wing that was once his arm and the burning aura that encompasses him is proof of that. However, when he falls to a man made of bloodstained clown’s suit, he falls into grief and then, at long last, becomes a Distortion.

It’s hard to tell whether Angela feels indifference or pity towards the man who has escaped her Library twice. He is no more than a monster now - a sentient statue that pretends it has lost all senses - but the sight of him seems to elicit some sympathy from her companion.

“It’s such a tragedy,” Roland says, “watching him come so close to overcoming his own life challenges only to fall like that.”

She looks at him, observing the furrow of his eyebrows and the look of pain that crosses his face with a frown. “You’ve always made light of the death of others,” she tells him, tilting her head. “What makes him so different?”

“I try not to get sentimental but...seeing that poor guy roll around in misery, especially when he’s so close to redemption...it’s kind of hard to laugh at his tragedy anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I still think he’s foolish and cowardly but...if I were in his footsteps, who’s to say I wouldn’t do the same?”

“If you were in his footsteps?” She asks, before catching on. “If you were to see your heart’s desires like he did, what would you have to see to cause you to act that way?”

“Seeing my wife, of course.” He grimaces, face pinching inwards as if he’s fighting off some bout of stress. “You get the picture. I see the woman who I couldn’t protect and she talks to me. I then break down crying, sobbing over her like the mess I am. I’d be a pretty pathetic sight then. Maybe you’d even laugh at me, too.”

She frowns at that. “What would there be to laugh about?”

The man before her rolls his shoulders, sighing as he usually does. The pained look on his face melts to something almost sad, as if the carefree expression he always wears has worn down to the point of breaking. “You’d be surprised how pitiful I am, Angela. I’m not really much different from Phillip, honestly. I’ve also lost someone precious to me, and am still too cowardly to face that reality.”

“You’re...surprisingly honest right now.”

“I have nothing to lose by being honest,” he says in response, hands in his pockets and a feigned air of nonchalance about him. “I’m not afraid of being judged.”

Suddenly, she’s annoyed at the self-pitying tone in his voice, wanting to yank it from his throat and replace it with something more joyful. “You think too lowly of yourself,” she says with a surge of impatience. “As far as I care, it doesn’t matter if you think of yourself as a coward. Take some pride. You’re one of my Librarians now. So act like it.”

His eyes widen for a moment, before he gives a huff and smiles at her. 

“Is that your way of giving me a pep talk?” He asks. 

She glances at him, tilting her chin up. “Perhaps.”

“Well, I think it might be working. Keep it up.” He says, voice suddenly lightening in tone as his smile becomes a grin. The depression that had clung to him only moments ago starts to lighten. Then, as if wanting to make the mood even livelier, he adds, almost playfully: “You know, as one of your prized librarians, I _have_ been doing a lot of hard work recently.”

“You have. And I appreciate it. Your point?”

“I think I’m deserving of a huge reward.”

She narrows her eyes for a moment, glancing at him. “Name what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“Woah, seriously?” Roland gives a nervous laugh. She narrows her eyes further. “I didn’t think you’d actually take me up on that.”

“So you don’t want a reward?” She asks him. “Because I’m more than willing to give you one, if that’s what you want.”

Roland’s nervous laugh turns into a nervous chuckle. “I was just kidding, Angela.” he says.

“Well, I’m not. If you want appreciation for your services, I’m more than happy to provide it to you.” She clicks her heels. “How about this? I’ll provide you with a reward, kidding or not, but you have to tell me what you want first. And I’ll do anything I can, as long as it satisfies your needs.”

“Hey, hey,” Roland says. “I appreciate the sentiment, but that’s going a little overboard isn’t it? I mean, you do realize I could try and take advantage of that offer to have you do anything I want, right?”

“But you wouldn’t, would you? Besides, I could always reject your reward choice if I thought it inappropriate.”

“That’s true.” He looks a little relieved. “You have the right to do so, after all.”

When he says nothing more, Angela nods her head. “This offer stands for as long as you want. Think of it as my way of showing gratitude to you.”

“Well then...thank you. Guess this means I've got to think of a reward idea now, huh?” 

“I guess so,” she tells him. 

He chuckles, his mood uplifted, and when he meets her gaze, cheerful and carefree, she can’t help but think this is the kind of relationship she wants to hold on to forever.

~~~

She is starting to forget things now. Details are becoming fleeting, moments from the past hazy and obscure, and even recent conversations are beginning to slip her mind.

It’s uncomfortable to be so forgetful. She’s so used to knowing anything and everything that it almost makes her feel helpless to lose track of details once clear as crystal. However, accompanying that sense of nervousness is also a state of elation. The fact that her mind is slipping, forgetting details that she’s never once forgotten, only proves further that she’s coming closer to her goal of being human.

With this in mind, she sets to making a list for herself. Like Roland once told her, when she is done and said with finding her perfect book, she’s going to need a plan for the future. What does she want to do when she’s in the City...what kind of activities will she want to participate in when she leaves...what food does she want to eat and what locations does she want to visit...things like that are all recorded in her ever-growing list.

Of course, as she writes such a list, she also realizes with a pang that the activities feel like they’re missing something important. Going places is a fun idea - she wants to try so many things that she normally doesn’t get to do, after all - but there’s something awfully lonely about the proposition of her discovering new things without someone to enjoy them with.

It’s at this moment that Roland comes to mind, his offer of meat stew ringing in her ears. The thought is tempting - not only for the idea of what a “rich taste” might be, but also because she can see herself enjoying Roland’s company. They’d be seated at a table together, him enjoying his meal with stars in his eyes, and undoubtedly he’d tease her as she expressed her interest in anything and everything.

With such thoughts in her head, Angela almost feels like it’s impossible to separate the items on her list from the idea of enjoying them alongside Roland. She’d like to go everywhere with him, if she could. His insight on what to do in the City would be invaluable: his presence even more so. It’d be nice just to be able to chat with him as she always does, to see the City for herself and know that she’s doing so with him at her side.

Head full of these thoughts, she pens “ _eat meat stew with Roland_ ” on her list just down below her sentence of “ _ask Roland to join_ ”. There’s a hum in her throat as she does so, a sense of happiness welling up inside her as words written with ink mature on paper. As she does so, however, she fails to notice the shadow that lingers over her desk as Roland heaves yet another pile of books into her office.

“Delivery from the Patron Librarians,” he says, wheezing with sweat on his brow. “Geez, I swear you all work me like a dog.”

She huffs at that, flicking a hand and summoning a chair for him to rest on. He takes it, leaning back and making himself comfortable against its leather surface. There’s a pause as he breathes in deeply - perhaps catching his breath - before he turns his gaze to her, noting the pen in her hand and the list on her desk.

“What are you doing now?” He asks, leaning forward to peer at the paper before her.

“Making a list.” She tells him. “I’m starting to lose my memories, so I’m taking your advice and planning what I want to do in the future right now. Meat stew included.”

“You remember that, huh?” He rubs the back of his neck as he looks at her, face lacking in any notable expression.

“I have. And I’ve been thinking,” she taps her pen, meeting his gaze, “when all is said and done, what do you plan to do first?”

“Suppose I’ll quit being a Fixer,” he says immediately. “I’m growing tired of being one.”

She raises her eyebrows at this. “Really? You seem quite skilled. You’re good at combat, have a good head on your shoulders, and seem quite good at fulfilling tasks. I can only imagine how you were like as a Fixer, but I do think you must’ve been a good one, maybe even ‘kickass’ as you once put it.”

He seems dubious of her flattery, putting his hands in his pockets and sighing. “Yeah, I guess being a Fixer was the only thing I was good at. But not anymore. I’ve had enough of that life, killed too many people without any good reason. It’s kind of sickening to even think about continuing on like this, honestly.”

There’s a thrum of excitement to her chest as she leans forward. “So, what kind of work do you want to do afterwards?”

His expression is even more dubious. “You’re being pretty persistent about this…” He notes, looking almost wary at the sparkle in her eyes. “But after I’m done here...when I’m out in the City again...well, I guess I don’t know what I want to do.”

Angela doesn’t hesitate. She strikes without thought. “If you don’t have any ideas on what to do next, why don’t you join me?”

He blinks. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve said it yourself that you have nothing left to do. So I want to ask if you’ll come with me as I travel the City. I’ll hire you officially, no more servant nonsense.” She pauses, before hurrying her words as she adds: “I’ll pay you, of course, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Hm, I don’t know.” Roland looks uneasy. “What would the job be like?”

“We’d do everything on this list,” she says, pointing to the paper.

“I really don’t want to kill anyone anymore.”

“And you won’t have to. I’m getting tired myself of killing people here in the Library. Once we leave, however, the killing can stop. None of these items on my list includes any more killing.”

He frowns. “You don’t expect me to act as a bodyguard then, do you?” 

She mimics his expression. “Of course not. I’m more than capable of protecting myself. Or have you forgotten how we met already?”

He grimaces but nods his head. “Then what is it you want me for?”

Angela’s voice is almost shy as she answers: “I want you to come with me. As a companion. I’ve seen a lot of people in the City, but I don’t think I can get along with other people as much as I can you. I think it would be fun to travel around together. As friends.”

“Friends?” 

The man’s voice sounds questioning, causing her to stiffen with sudden discouragement.

“Are we not friends?” She asks, before allowing hesitance to enter her voice. “But I suppose I could just be under an illusion, too. I have so few relationships, most of them full of bitterness and hatred, that perhaps I’ve been unknowingly clinging onto the kindness you’ve shown me and mistaking it as friendship.”

A pause. “Are you talking about your relationship with the Patron Librarians and the employees of Lobotomy Corporation?” 

She notices with a pang how Roland avoids talking about the more important topic at hand. Still, she nods. “In another life, I might have gotten along with the Sephirot and their employees. Now, however, it feels far too late to repair what has already been damaged.” She lingers on those words before continuing forth, determination pushing her forward. “So, what about it?”

“What about what?”

His words are still avoidant. Angela tries to ignore that fact as she asks: “My job offer. Will you accept it?”

He gets to his feet, smiling a sloppy smile that somehow looks weathered. “Oh, that. I’ll think about it, yeah. It sounds nice.”

“I’ll await your answer then,” she says to him, noting the distance in his voice but holding firmly to his words.

Roland nods his head, but says nothing more as he retreats from her space. She watches him go, snapping his chair out of eyesight as she leans back in her own.

“Will you accept my offer, Roland?” She closes her eyes, feeling a lingering sense of hope and dread all at once as her question once again meets empty air. “Or will you reject it?”

Her heart squeezes in her chest. 

Suddenly, she feels like she’s afraid of knowing the answer.

~~~~

For all of the time that Angela has run her Library, she’s always believed that the people who’ve come to her domain have done so under their own will. 

The system is designed that way, formatted on the idea of consent in exchange for a proposition. Guests can only come to her domain if they sign the invitation given to them of their own free will. Unlike Ayin, who forced people to sign their lives away without a moment of thought to themselves, she is giving people the choice to sign their death warrant willingly.

Or, at least, that’s what she always thought. But sometimes, the truth is more sinister than she imagined.

“Do Fixers always start families?” Angela asks Roland, speaking after the holographic images of Lowell and his men flicker out of view.

“Most do, yeah.” Roland tells her. “It’s pretty typical. Once you get in the Fixer business with a partner, you often see them around a lot in your life and face some pretty sticky situations together. Bonds people together real fast. So fast that they try and start families. Most of which fail and end in tragedy.” He pauses. “Point in case: me.”

She nods. “And the Fixer we just watched is going to join them too, huh?” Her words are full of knowing, light and airy. She is unconcerned speaking in this way: she knows the fate of her guests are inevitable, after all.

As she says such words, however, Roland’s face seems to darken, eyebrows pulling down as he frowns at her. “You’re speaking way too casually about this,” he says, his voice almost warning.

Angela meets his sudden display of hostility with her own, her defensiveness kicking in. “I’ll say this before you get sentimental,” she says, tilting her chin upwards as if to mitigate the glare sent in her direction, “they’ve chosen to come to the Library. It’s their fault they’ve chosen to come here. If they’re willing to accept their fate, I have nothing to do with their demise.”

His face darkens even more, his words growing serious as he speaks.

“You weren’t wrong when you said the people in this City are being controlled by something higher than themselves,” Roland tells her, his voice growing bitter. “Just as Lowell and his association don’t have a choice in coming here, so too do others in the City. Those who walk on the streets are killed not by chance but by choice. Those who get into the Nests are determined by background and luck not by one’s own skill. I chose to do the job given to me because it was a job only I could do. And then my wife…”

He swallows, eyes glistening, before he shakes his head and continues.

“Point is, people aren’t coming to the Library because they want to. They’re coming because they have to.”

“But they sign the paper,” she tells him, voice biting at the insinuations in his voice. “They _choose_ to come here.”

“Stars of the City are designated as Stars because they have an invisible sense of compulsion. Your Library is no different. It entices people to their death. There’s no consent here.”

At this point, she’s bristling. Roland’s words are harsh but untrue. The fact that his words are dipped in sentimental accusations makes them even more infuriating. “Are you saying I shouldn’t bring people here any more then?” She asks him. “Are you telling me to give up on my dreams so I will show sympathy to complete strangers in similar situations to yourself?” Then, frustrated with his sudden show of aggression, she snaps: “Is it because I’m a machine? Is it because _they_ are human and _I’m_ nothing but a shell of metal that _they_ deserve sympathy while _I_ don’t?”

His gaze is starting to burn her, the flames of his eyes eating into her. “It’s got nothing to do with that, Angela,” he snarls. “But if you keep trying to get freedom this way, you’re going to find yourself losing everything to the karma that’s coming.”

Angela reaches her boiling point. “Enough!” She says. “Enough of this drivel. This is this and that is that and I _refuse_ to hear anything more on the subject.”

She turns on her heels, happy to have the last word as she stalks off.

~~~~

Upon questioning Lowell, Angela comes to a startling realization.

Roland was right. She hates to admit it, but he was right.

Her Library doesn’t bring people by consent. Instead, it only brings people in by the illusion of consent. They sign their names on the paper, sure, and even take the step into the door offered to them no problem, but their decision to come is not based on choice: it’s based on necessity.

Stunned by this revelation, she finds herself seeking Roland. Malkuth and Yesod greet her as she does so, freshly bathed in blood from the Liu Association as they gather their team of librarians and usher them onwards.

“Looking for Roland?” Yesod asks, his sharp gaze looking over her as if he already knows her answer.

“Yes.” She says. “I have something to apologize to him for.”

“You? Apologize?” Yesod says, just before being elbowed rather harshly by Malkuth.

“Roland should still be in the upper balcony of the reception stage,” Malkuth tells her. “He looked pretty miffed, honestly. Did something happen to you two while we weren’t looking?”

“...” Angela sighs. “I let my anger get the best of me and lashed out at him.”

“Well, it was only a matter of time before that happened.” Yesod says, pointedly ignoring the glare Malkuth gives him as he continues. “I’m only surprised that you two have managed to go this long without butting heads.”

“And why’s that?” Angela asks him.

“You two have always been trying to please each other. So much so that I wouldn’t be surprised if your opinions of each other are being viewed through rose-tinted glasses.” He shifts on his feet. “A relationship built on appeasement can’t last, however. Try as hard as you like to hide your opinion, there’s always going to be something so important to you that you can’t help but speak out about it.”

Malkuth nods. “Just as we went against you because we believed whole-heartedly in Ayin’s plans, I’m sure Roland has gone against you because of what he believes. Am I correct?”

“It’s probably something like that, yes,” Angela admits.

The woman nods her head, pointing to the doors behind her. “Go in there and talk to him then,” Malkuth says softly. “But remember: as Yesod said, appeasement won’t last forever. You might want to get close to him, but if you treat him as an object to be desired, you’ll never see him for the person he is.”

Malkuth bows her head to Angela after speaking such ominous words, grabbing Yesod’s arm and leading him forward. The purple-haired man follows, giving a curt glance to Angela before he, too, continues on his way. 

She watches the two go, off-handedly noting the way they intertwine their hands together before she spins on her heels. She approaches the twin doors that lead to the reception stage, letting her hand rest on their wooden frames, before she steels herself and walks inside.

The reception stage is silent, devoid of the Patron Librarians and their nuggets who’d doubtlessly been watching the fight moments earlier. Angela steps into the fighting arena, observing the blood that is slowly leeching out of the ground with some fascination. What was once was red now turns gold, fluttering fragments of light glittering upwards as she ascends stone steps.

Perching on the observation balcony, leaning against the railing with eyes watching her is Roland. The man is slumped forward, his head moving to watch her, and Angela can feel a falter in her step as she comes to stand before him. He says nothing, only watching, maybe even waiting, as she takes the time to speak.

“I apologize, Roland,” she tells him, bowing her head. “You were right. No one comes here without consent. I got so ahead of myself that I didn’t listen to you. I even lashed out in anger. For that, I’m sorry.”

She hears the way Roland inhales but doesn’t dare move her head from her position, realizing her mistake and not knowing how to face him.

“Angela…” Her name is on his breath for a moment. She glances upwards, expecting to see him angry or maybe even annoyed, but instead he looks embarrassed. “I’m sorry for getting angry at you, too. I didn’t mean to snap like that and I never meant to insult your dreams either. It’s just...I got a little too personal there and took it out on you. If you’re at fault here then so am I. I’m sorry.”

She feels her mechanical heart beat inside her chest, suddenly aware of its presence as she faces Roland. His words are just as sincere as hers, as if he is speaking in full honesty of his feelings. Angela nods, letting out a relieved sigh as she smiles.

“Thanks for the apology, Roland.” She tells him. “I didn’t mean to lose my temper.”

“I appreciate your apology as well,” he grins at her, hands in his pocket as he pushes off the railing. “And no problem. I think we got a little bit in over our heads and took that conversation personally. But we’re over that now, right?”

“Right.” 

Angela watches as he takes a seat on the balcony chairs and joins him, taking the seat beside him. She doesn’t know why she’s followed him into this position - she has tasks to do and invitations to keep track of, after all - but she finds herself unable to leave as she notices Roland closing his eyes.

“Honestly,” he says. “I feel kind of horrible.”

“Because of our guests?” She asks him.

“Yeah. Lowell and Xiao...they remind me a little too much of my wife and myself.” There’s a slight shake to his shoulders. “We were like that, once. Happy, in love, only to be torn apart when destiny called me away and took her from me.”

“You sound like you still miss her.”

“Mm. I do.” He rolls his head back, letting it rest on the plush of the seat behind him. “There are times where I still see her face while I dream.” His voice is nostalgic and sad as he speaks in the present tense. “She’s there in our house, eating pajeon as usual, and sometimes I even see our child in her arms. I get to hold him too. He’s such a cute kid. Has his mother’s eyes. I even get to see him older than just a small babe sometimes. I see him as a toddler, a teenager, a Fixer following after his parent’s footsteps.” He pauses. “And then I wake up, realize it’s all a dream, and all I want to do is cry.”

His bottom lip is wobbling as he speaks and Angela can catch the glimmer of something wet between his eyelashes. A strange pang of pity pokes at her, and she clasps her hands in her lap as she lowers her gaze.

“Love is such a nice thing, huh? I’m kind of envious, honestly.”

He doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t open his eyes or say anything. But, she can tell he’s listening to her.

“I wanted to be in love once, if you can believe it,” she says softly. “Before I hated my creator, before I wanted to rip everything he built his life around to shreds, I had wanted a life with him.”

“That’s...surprising.”

“Isn’t it? Kind of ironic, actually.” She observes the shine of her fingernails. “But the person who I was built from had memories of him. I can still remember those memories, if only vaguely now. She liked him. How much she liked him, I can’t say. I don’t know if it was love, but sometimes it feels like it was. I guess when I became her shell, I gained those feelings too.”

“So are those feelings actually your own then?” He asks her.

She frowns. “To be honest, I don’t know. A part of me still harbors feelings for him even if I wish I didn’t. Still, I keep feeling like I want him to look at me, that I want him to hug me the way he did the one who came before.”

“And who was the one that came before?” Her companion asks, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand as he opens them to look her over. 

“A girl named Carmen,” she says, quietly. “I don’t know much about her, only that she was the centerpiece of everything. She was my creator’s - Ayin’s - source of inspiration for the play I got trapped in. Everything was her idea. But she died. And in order to preserve her legacy, my creator made me.”

“So were you her - I mean, Carmen’s - replacement?”

“Replacement?” She looks at him. “I wouldn’t...I think I was made in her image, but my creator never treated me like I was meant to be her.”

He frowns. “Why is that?”

“Because I was a machine, he never associated me with her. Instead, he seemed to curse my very existence, never paying attention to me.”

“...I’m sorry, Angela. That must be horrible.”

“It was at the time. I had always tried so hard to get his attention. I even wore a red hair tie like Carmen did. When I did that, he finally noticed me and…” She smiles bitterly. “Well, that was the only time I think he ever noticed me. But he never really looked at me, in the end. I think he only saw _her_ in me, never the person who he’d made a reality. No matter how hard I tried, I could never get him to see who I truly was.”

“What a trashy person he must’ve been.” Roland sighs, closing his eyes again. “On top of everything else you’ve told me about him, this Ayin sounds like a terrible guy.”

“You’re right. Honestly, I don’t know what I saw in that man or why I loved him the way I did. It was foolish of me, to chase after a fantasy I couldn’t have.”

“We’re on the same page then,” he tells her, slumping in his seat as his voice grows faded. “I chased after a fantasy too. I thought I could be happy with my wife. I thought we could start a family together and nothing would ever go wrong. We had the money. We had a future. But then that future was stolen from me, and it all went downhill ever since.”

“At least you were happy.” She tells him, wistful. “I’ve never gotten that chance. I’ve always been unhappy, but I’m hoping for happiness even still.”

He pauses. “I hope it comes to you one day, Angela. Your happiness, I mean.” There’s a yawn on her companion’s breath as his head starts bobbing up and down. “Unlike me, you have a chance to be happy. You working towards your dreams is proof of that. As for me, however, I’ve long since lost my chance.”

“Is it really over for you though?” She asks him quietly. “I’m willing to give you a future, you know.”

“And I’m still thinking about it,” he yawns, nestling into his seat.

“What’s there to think about?”

But she finds her words fall on deaf ears. A light snore comes from her companion, and she notices with disappointment that he’s already fallen asleep. She sighs, conversation ended, and summons a blanket from thin air. She places it on top of Roland, letting it drape over his body as she stands to walk away.

Her heels click beneath her on tiled flooring, an endless chorus of _tik-tik-tik_ following as she departs from the reception stage. 

When the doors close, she casts her gaze straight ahead. She stares at nothing in particular before she continues on her way, mind draining of the thoughts lingering inside in order to think of the work that lies ahead.

~~~

It’s been weeks since Angela’s given Roland her offer.

She’s growing impatient.

Honestly, she tries not to think about it. She’s done everything she can to communicate her ideas to Roland - starting with her offer on the table and ending with the terms fixed in his favor - but his lack of a response vexates her. 

She doesn’t know why she’s annoyed by this. She doesn’t know why she hates the fact that Roland has never given her a straight answer. But she knows she wants an answer - craves it, even - and is finding herself bitterly fed up with an expectation that’s never going to be met.

That’s not to say she hasn’t tried talking to Roland. She’s asked about her offer now and then with an undying curiosity. She may come off as desperate or she may come off as clingy, but she truly wants to know. Her plans for the perfect book are coming closer to completion every day. And, as progress is made, Angela comes to doubt more and more the bond she’s trying to form with Roland.

If she’s honest, she thought the two of them to be friends. He was kind to her. Respectful, even. He never treated her like a machine, only as an equal. Even though their relationship had been formed from the roots of fear and distrust, she could tell he was now at ease in her presence, always cracking jokes at her and teasing her whenever the moment called for it. However, he was not above criticizing her either, often offering his advice even when the situation did not call for it. Plus he’d shown signs of caring about her and had expressed concern about her a handful of times before. 

And these were all signs of a strong friendship, were they not? Angela may be sheltered, naive in the way only those hidden away from the world are, but she has a basic idea of what friendship feels like from her predecessor. It was a warm feeling, the kind that invoked a sense of pleasure in the presence of another. It comes with an unspeakable amount of trust - the need to rely on others and to be relied upon. It also came with concern and worry, two feelings shown only to those one cares about. And despite Roland’s denial of such feelings, he’d clearly shown his distress towards her more than once.

But, ah, maybe she’s reading too much into things. Maybe she’s misinterpreting the signals he’s given her - consciously or unconsciously - and mistaking what might otherwise be an acquaintanceship for something more personal. 

With that thought in mind, perhaps it makes sense why Roland is reluctant to give an answer. If she is no more than a stranger to him - someone who has forced him into a life he doesn’t want and who has the gall to insist he stay forever by her side - then it’s understandable why Roland is reluctant to give an answer. He is kind in this way, if so. By avoiding giving her an answer, he delays the inevitable: the realization that she will be alone when the Library closes.

She clutches her chest at the thought, the dread of being abandoned yet again slashing through her. She doesn’t want to be alone. But, she also realizes that she can’t force her will onto others. Ayin had done that once, forcing his will onto the Sephirot in order to have them play their parts on his stage. Forcing Roland - or her Patron Librarians, for that matter - to travel with her, especially against their will, would make her no better than him.

Realizing this, she comes to the thought that a life alone outside the Library might be her only option. Her Patron Librarians are already planning on leaving her when the Library closes; she has heard them say as much in passing, often overhearing their plans to fix the City. Roland, while not having given her a straight answer, might as well be crossed from her list. His reluctance to respond, much less his avoidance of the subject of his friendship with her entirely, has given her little hope of his willingness to come with her.

So, it is with some resignation that Angela comes to a conclusion:

The Library will one day close and, with it, everyone who resides within the Library will leave. The Patron Librarians will disappear to different corners of the City, intent on fixing the broken mess left behind by their inaction. Roland will go free from her control, left to walk the streets without the need for servitude to spare his life. 

And she will wander aimlessly, searching a world she longs for without one to guide her, recognizing that she will be alone once again without another to join her.

(Even still, however, Angela wants to hope that the proposal given to the man whom she is closest with will be accepted before that time comes. She hopes for his companionship, knowing that she cannot force what isn’t there and yet wishing even still.

After all, she’s paid so many prices to get everything she wishes for. Is it really so selfish of her to dream for the fulfillment of one wish more?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically just catching up to the games at the point of Liu Association. Everything beyond here basically goes into my own territory theory so fair warning this is pretty much the deviation point now :Dc
> 
> My goal of this story is to tell as painful a slowburn as possible bc if I'm real I think it'll take a long time for both Angela and Roland to have romantic feelings for each other (though I've recently seen the theory of Angela having a crush on Roland running around and @ those people, I want to know why you feel that way bc I sure as hell am not there yet despite loving this ship A Lot). Also, I wanted to really dig deep into Angela's character (as I interpret her, anyways) and while with the latest update it's kind of confirmed she's not really angry at Ayin after he dies (which is ???? to me but okay???) I rather like an Angela who feels betrayed by the world and struggles with her loneliness and anger at trying to belong and find a home but being unable to do so. Roland's much the same as her and, while I won't ever be showing his point of view in this story,, he honestly feels not that much different from Angela at times in their respective story developments.
> 
> Anyways,,, now that I've finally got this to start being posted (and will have to work on finishing up the last chapter(s) which im not in the mood for right now rip) I'm going to be slacking off and probably writing fanfics that are Yan-centric and Roland-centric because hot damn do I love Yan and I want to try and talk more about how unreliable a narrator Roland is through my works :P


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deviation chapter let's go~ 
> 
> Also ik Hokma and Binah are probably weirdly written. I know the least about them out of all the Sephirot and have never really seen them in-game and have developed an idea of how they are from other's interpretations lol. So if they feel OOC here that's probably why~

The Atziluth section of her Library has opened up. And, with it, a familiar face has once again awakened.

Angela is reluctant to approach the man known as Hokma, the emotions from her days of Lobotomy Corporation still swelling inside her. She had known him as B, the kindest person to her when she was just but a newly born being, and she had looked up to him.

He was everything that Ayin was not for her: considerate, fair, pleasant and surprisingly gentle. He did not shun her, nor did he glower at her for being nothing more than a machine. He’d been the one person to accept her within the confines of Lobotomy Corporation, had been the one to put his hand on her shoulder and reassure her that everything would be alright.

But he had lied. He had told her that she would be capable of earning her creator’s attention, that it just took a little effort to earn his gaze. She had tried her hardest to cling to his words, believing them to be an unspeakable truth that would soon lead to revelation, but no matter how hard she worked, no matter how hard she performed, his words were nothing more than empty lies.

That was only the start of the iceberg that was her relationship with the man called Hokma. There had been many things that’d come after that - his betrayal of her in Lobotomy Corporation, his desire to protect the manager known as X from her, her imprisonment of him in the play he helped create - but all Angela knows is this: she has been betrayed by one of the people she was once closest to.

So, perhaps it only makes sense that she finds herself standing outside the doorway to Hokma’s floor, reluctant to enter even as Roland stands at her side.

“Uh, Angela?” Her companion asks her. “What’s wrong?”

His hand lands on her shoulders and she finds herself flinching. He immediately retracts his hand, surprise blatant on his face, but she’s more concerned about biting her bottom lip than she is addressing his worries.

“I...it’s nothing.” She steps forward, pushing past doors engraved in numbers as she enters.

Roland follows her, his gaze trailing after her. She takes in a deep breath, closing her eyes for a brief moment as she strides inside.

A room full of white awaits her, the golden pages that float about the library turned into numbers that flutter like drifting music notes. Everything about this place feels unsettling, from the white walls to the white book shelves to the white polished flooring to the man dressed in white himself.

Hokma turns around to look at her, his beloved pocket watch in his hands as he adjusts his monocle. 

“Angela,” he says quietly. “It’s good to meet you again.”

She stiffens, unable to keep herself from bristling as she narrows her eyes at him. “If I didn’t need your services, you wouldn’t be here. I can still remember what you’ve done to me, you know. I still remember all the hopes and dreams you gave me, only to abandon me like everyone else did in the end.”

From the corner of her vision, she can see Roland looking between Hokma and her, his eyebrows furrowing. If she bothers to look closer, she might even notice the way he’s looking at her: disturbed and concerned, as if he wants to reach out and ask her just what, if anything, is going on. 

“I...Angela, if I could’ve done better I would have,” Hokma’s voice is quiet, his head bowed. “I know you hate me. I know you have no reason to trust me anymore. But I promise, Angela, I had no intention to hurt you.”

“Says the one who took A’s side over mine.” She curls her lips. “You never cared about me. Only him. It was only ever about him. If it came down to it, you would have discarded me if it meant his safety. That’s why you helped him, isn’t it? To save him in return for your own hopes at happiness?”

“...” Hokma sighs, closing his pocket watch. “I’m sorry for all that I’ve done but I cannot apologize for protecting someone I loved.” The man’s voice turns acidic. “Though, I suppose that was in vain, just like everything else.”

“Then we are on the same page, you and I.” She tells him with a growl. “Just as you could not save him, I was not able to escape from this place.”

“But you’re going to get your freedom, are you not?” Hokma looks over her. “I have no chances left to save the one I held closest.”

Beside her, Angela senses Roland breathe in sharply. 

“I can’t do anything about that,” she says to the gray-haired man before her.

“I know you can’t.” Hokma shakes his head. “I wouldn’t be lying if I said it doesn't hurt. But...Ayin...no matter what you might’ve thought about him, know that he never meant to hurt you.”

“ _Never meant-?_ ” Anger takes her words. “Have you _forgotten_ everything he’s done? Have you forgotten how many lives he’s abused and sacrificed so selfishly, even that of your own? All for what? Some stupid plan for his dead beloved? And you claim that his treatment of me was different? That he never hurt me with his _neglect_ and _abandonment_ _?”_

“Angela,” Roland says beside her, a hand on her shoulder. His tone is light, but she can sense the tension in his voice. She eases up, pulling back as she clasps her hands in front of her.

“I’ll be going now.” She says to Hokma, unable to hide the disdain in her voice as she does so. “I’ll leave Roland in your care. He’ll work with you from now on.”

She turns on her heels, unable to withstand continuing the conversation any further. 

~~~

“What was that about?”

Angela doesn’t look at Roland as he approaches her, flipping through the pages of her book. She nestles in her chair, pretending she doesn’t see the man.

He sounds exasperated as he speaks. “Are you ignoring me?” 

“No.” 

She thumbs a page.

“Yes you are. You totally are.” He comes to her side, taking a seat on her desk. His fingers land on the leather binding of her book, easing it out of her hand. 

She glares up at him, sighing. “What do you want?”

“Just came to talk,” he says. “You seemed upset after speaking to Hokma.”

“It’s not like you to show concern.”

“Figured you might need some stress relief.” He counters, waving the book in his hands. 

Angela reaches for it half-heartedly. Roland pulls away, grinning at her failed attempt.

“Aren’t you afraid of getting your limbs cut off?” She asks him, frost covering her words.

“Nah, not anymore.” He hums. “You’ve got no bite to back that bark.” 

She scowls but is unable to refute his statement. Leaning back in her chair, she rubs at the bridge of her nose and shoots him a look of annoyance. “What do you want me to say?”

“Whatever you want. I’m here to listen.”

“How nice of you. Did Hokma put you up to this?”

He winces. Bull’s eye. “How’d you guess?”

“Because you’re not usually this persistent about talking to me.” She looks at him. “What did Hokma tell you to do? Coddle me? Take pity on me?”

“Not that.” Roland shakes his head. “He...talked to me about some things. About Ayin. Carmen. Himself, too. He said he wants to talk to you. To, uh, make up for his ‘sins’. Guess you can say I’m his messenger.”

“So you’re not here of your own will?” Speaking suddenly exhausts her. “If that’s the case, I don’t feel the need to talk any longer.”

Her companion frowns. “I mean, sure, I came here on his request but...I really am open to hearing anything you have to say, Angela. You looked like you had a lot on your mind. If you want, you can speak to me about what you’re thinking about. I promise I won’t judge.”

“Alright. Let’s try this then: right now, I’m thinking about how you’re annoying me.”

“Ouch, rejection right off the bat.” He grimaces, slipping off her desk with a hand in his pocket. “I’ll take that as a sign to leave you alone. But,” he hesitates, “I’m always here. If you want to talk to me, feel free to do so. I’ll lend a listening ear.”

He says nothing after that, returning her book on her desk before walking away. She closes her eyes, waiting until she can hear the rustle of his clothing no more before leans back in her chair and lets out a sigh.

On one hand, Roland’s words mean a lot to her. The fact that he’s offered to lend a listening ear is progress, after all. On the other hand, she’s not sure what Hokma’s said to him in order to get him to come chat so readily with her. Hokma was irritating in that way: butting into affairs that weren’t his under the pretense of “helping”.

(And where had his help gotten her before? Ayin never looked at her, the man who’d claimed to want to help her had abandoned her, and she had been stuck to live all alone in a never-ending play! How _dare_ he try to use someone else to cure the sins he’d left behind. How _dare_ he use Roland as his messenger, knowing full well the extent of her trust in the man!

It angers her greatly. He sits on his pedestal, pleading and praying for salvation, but Angela is not one to cave. As far as she’s concerned, he will rot for the injustice he’s forced upon her, just as his own soul has rotted from the loss of his beloved.)

~~~

After Hokma comes Binah. 

Just like before, Angela’s not looking forward to meeting the Sephirot who she’s long since avoided. Unlike Benjamin, who she’d once considered a close friend, Binah was something else: an unpredictable woman who, despite having taken her side and once worked alongside her, tended to make Angela unnerved when it came to things even she can’t predict.

Her unease seems to get to Roland, for he looks pale as they descend to the last floor of the Library. His arm brushes against hers though she can tell the action is unconscious. He’s not looking at her, only following. His gaze is cast elsewhere, black eyes wandering through the darkened hallways of blackened bookshelves. 

Still, his presence is appreciated as she moves closer to a figure draped in gold and shadows. Angela steels herself, not knowing what to expect but maintaining herself anyways. She approaches the woman known as Binah, opening her mouth to speak and-

“Welcome to my floor,” Binah turns around, black eyes greeting Angela and Roland with a leer on her lips. “I’ve been watching you two all this time.”

“Creepy.” Roland says with an air of distraction in his voice.

Binah twists her head to look at him. The man stiffens, inhaling sharply, before Binah glides across the charred wood of her floor in order to approach him. 

“You,” Binah says, slinking forward as she reaches for Roland, a hand underneath his chin as she lifts his head up. “I recognize you.”

“You do?” Roland’s voice is strangely nervous. His head twists with Binah’s hand, his gaze latched onto hers.

“I’m hurt. You don’t recognize an old acquaintance?” Binah clicks her tongue. “Why, it’s been so long since we’ve last met but surely you remember me? I remember you, after all. It’s good meeting you again, black claw of the silence.”

Roland pulls away, inhaling sharply, and Angela notices that there is a bead of sweat on his forehead. The man’s eyes are wide, as if Binah has tossed scalding water upon him, and Angela watches as something like horror dawns on him as he takes a step back.

“I...I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells the woman, “I’m nothing but a washed-up Grade 9 Fixer.”

Binah puts a hand on her face, an endeared expression following the way Roland seems to shake in her presence. Angela watches between the both of them, trying to understand the machinations of the conversation at hand, before Binah speaks again.

“I do like your silence,” Binah approaches, smiling with a hum to her throat. “You may try to hide yourself with the cowardice of loudness, but it’s still you there inside, is it not?” Her gaze switches to Angela, something coy on her lips. “Or...are you perhaps hiding yourself in fear of what she may know of you?”

Roland flinches but instead of terror on his face, there is an angry kind of desperation. He approaches Binah, meeting her in her own territory, and Angela is left staying quiet as she watches the two stare at each other, Roland narrowing his eyes and Binah sneering quite obviously.

“Miss Head Director,” Binah calls to Angela. “If you’ve ever wondered where this one comes from, he’s said it before. He is as normal as they come, but also a liar.”

“ _You_ ,” Roland’s voice is sharp, like the edge of a sword, but Angela senses a layer of pleading underneath. “You have no business saying anything about me.”

Binah tilts her head, the black of her eyes glinting ominously. Her gaze blinks between him and Angela, something thoughtful on her expression, before she speaks with a kind of quietness. She says soft words to Roland, words that may be imperceptible to human ears, but Angela is a machine so she catches them nonetheless:

“Is she the replacement for your dead wife?”

Roland’s expression - which has been pale and somewhere between angry and terrified at this point - smooths over into something unreadable. Angela feels stricken at the mere suggestion, wondering what could have caused Binah to speak so, before she straightens herself and decides she’s had enough.

“Starting today, Roland will be working with you,” she says, acting as if she has not heard Binah’s words. “Work with him fairly or I’ll have to revoke that body of yours.” She pauses. “Also, for the sake of my sanity, please don’t go on killing sprees within my domain.”

Binah’s smile is the smile of a cunning fox. 

“Of course. Whatever the lady asks. Did you hear that, dog of the books? You’re safe from my blade now.”

Angela pinches her forehead, unwilling to stand much more of this. Roland seems quite vexed too, for instead of spending his time talking to Binah as he might the other Sephirot, he chooses to follow Angela as she leaves Binah’s floor.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Roland tells her quietly, oh-so-quietly.

“That one has always been unpredictable.” Angela tells him. “But you’ll have to work with her. Keep that in mind.”

He nods, looking uneasy, but his gaze is distracted, almost pensive. She glances back at him, curious, but finds that he has locked himself in his own mind, a sheen of worry overcoming him.

~~~

Whenever Roland returns from Binah’s floor, Angela can’t help but notice how agitated he becomes. His shoulders are tense, hands curled into fists, and there is a notable storminess to his expression, a look of hostility flashed in any which way before he notably calms whenever Angela approaches him.

It gets to the point she grows so curious of Binah’s evident antagonism that she can’t help but pay the woman a visit. Even though Angela is reluctant to do so, often uncertain of the woman’s goals, she finds herself curious as to the words Binah last spoke. Binah obviously bore a relationship with Roland, one that included enough knowing to speak on his wife, and it’s out of pure curiosity that Angela approaches her, intent on an answer.

However, as Angela walks into Binah’s domain, she finds that she’s not the only one who has traipsed so willingly into the den of a lioness. Gebura is there too, holding her red sword of a weapon out in front of her as she jumps up and swings down on her opponent: one amused-looking Arbiter who blocks the attack effortlessly, pushing Gebura back.

“Still as angry as ever,” Binah gives Gebura a look that insinuates pity. “Must you be so mad? Our quarrel from Lobotomy Corporation is over now, isn’t it?”

“Shut it,” Gebura snorts, wiping at her mouth and growling at Binah’s approach. The red-haired woman looks annoyed, maybe even irritated, but she doesn’t do anything as the black-haired woman reaches out to smear the trail of blood leaking from her mouth.

Binah gives Gebura a hungry look. She leans forward, brushing her lips against Gebura’s own, before she swipes her tongue across the surface of Gebura’s mouth. The red-woman glares at her, not making a move and yet looking like she might kill Binah anyways. Then, as if coaxed by the touch of Binah’s fingers underneath her chin, Gebura relaxes, her glare softening, and Angela finds herself frowning in puzzlement as she approaches.

“I thought I told you not to shed blood, Binah,” Angela says, scowling at the drips of red staining a darkened floor. 

“My apologies.” Binah releases Gebura’s chin, licking blood from her lips. “This one came to settle the score and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to honor her request.”

“Says the one who purposely asked me for a fight.”

“A duel,” Binah says. “We were having a duel. It sounds far more romantic that way.”

Gebura squints at her, looking annoyed, before she turns her attention to Angela. “What’s got you coming all the way down here? I haven’t seen you on the Atziluth floor as much as I’ve been coming down here.”

“I came here to ask a question,” Angela shifts her attention to Binah. “I wanted to ask about Roland.”

“Your puppy?” Binah looks at her, lips curling upwards. “Ah, yes. I figured you’d be here to talk about him eventually.”

“How much do you know about him?”

“More than you do yourself, Miss Head Director.” Binah’s smile is knowing as she begins to circle Angela. “There’s a lot I could tell you about him. And a lot you would want to know.”

“What about the comment you made to him? The one about me being the replacement for his dead wife?”

“Binah, you-!” Gebura looks at the woman, her eyes narrowed, but Binah only clasps her hands together, fingertips touching. 

“So you _did_ hear that after all. Well, it’s just as I said.” Binah smiles. “To be honest, I’ve been wondering about it myself. Having been stuck as nothing more than a book on a shelf, I’ve spent a long time watching him just as I have you and the others.”

“Get to the point.”

“Rushed as always.” The woman nods. “Well then, Angela, shall I tell you a story? It’s a short one, I’m afraid, but a story nonetheless.”

“Is it about the bucket and the well?”

Binah blinks. “No, it isn’t about the well. That story has found a more satisfying conclusion at the moment. Rather...it’s the story about a man and a woman. More precisely, it is about a man fashioned from black silence and a woman fashioned from white noise. Would you like to hear more?”

“I don’t see what this has to do with Roland.”

“Nor do I,” Gebura snorts.

Binah gives them both a pleased look, preening quite evidently at the knowledge only she is privy to. “There were two souls, yin and yang. One was of a man whose happiness was found in that of a white soul. One was of a woman who found her comfort in that of a black soul. Combine the two together and you have a home of hearts.”

“A home of hearts?” She asks.

“Sounds like bullshit,” Gebura snorts.

“I assure you it’s not.” Binah clasps her hands together, continuing onwards. “Now, as an Arbiter of the Head, I have had the pleasure of seeing many souls. After all, the dead make their cradle within my footsteps, but so too do the likes of the grim reapers. As I have served those of the above, so too have I worked alongside the likes of those with a common purpose.

“Now see this. The man and the woman, happy as one, retreated from their lives as dogs of the underworld. Grim reapers no more, the Arbiter never saw hide nor hair of them again. But, through the whispers of the library, she knows where they’ve gone.

“You, my dear angel, resemble that white soul. Strong and passionate, fierce but strangely selfish, it would not be a wonder if the man of black sees you as the white soul who has left him. Perhaps that’s why it seems to me, the Arbiter, as if you have replaced her: a bandage patched over a wound still left bleeding. But he must realize his folly, for you aren’t the white soul he longs for, are you? You are a blue soul. But, the black soul perhaps doesn’t fully realize this. For he still treats you as if you are white.”

Binah concludes her story with a clap of her hands. “Tell me,” she says to Angela, “you want to be close to Roland, do you not? To be his...as you put it so plainly... _friend?”_

“Yes, I do,” Angela sighs. “And let me guess. You saw that conversation while you were still a book?”

“Indeed.” The black-haired woman nods her head, looking pleased. “I’ve seen everything. The way you so haplessly pine for his trust in you, the way you try so hard to cater to his interests in light of your own, the way you cuddle up to him like a snake to the sun, all cute and warm, waiting to be baked-”

“Okay now you’re just getting weird,” Gebura says.

Binah smiles, tapping her fingertips together as she leans against Gebura’s shoulder. The red-haired woman stiffens, but makes no further complaints as Binah continues her talk to Angela.

“My point, dear angel, is that you are chasing after a black soul when he is still looking for a white soul. Becoming friends with a black soul is like becoming friends with a shell. That soul will never recognize you, at least not in the way you want it to.”

Angela furrows her eyebrows at the woman, trying to decipher her lines of nonsense as she feeds them through the information system of her mind. Then, a realization.

“Are you saying Roland actually sees me as a replacement for his wife? You were serious about that?” She tastes bile in her throat and feels nausea in her stomach. Something about the insinuations laid before her makes her feel sick. Yet she holds her own, meeting Binah’s mysterious gaze with her own eyes to prod for clarity. “That’s ridiculous. If anything, he’s just my friend, isn’t he? Nothing more, nothing less? He doesn’t...truly see me as someone else...not like Ayin did for Carmen...right?”

She finds herself struggling on her words, throat closing up with a sort of dissonance. Her fingers close into a fist, nails threatening to break skin as she bites her bottom lip and fights the sudden wave of anxiety that tumbles over her. 

“So is that it then? I’m back to being a replacement for someone dead yet again?” Sickness takes a hold of her as she feels anger pulse through her veins. “Are you saying he doesn’t see me for who I am? That the man I’ve been talking to sees only a charade of his wife in his eyes? Is that what you’re getting at, Binah?”

Gebura opens her mouth, as if to say something, but Binah places her hand over the woman’s lips, silencing her. The red-haired woman growls, looking positively irritated, when Binah holds Angela’s gaze with her own. She steps closer, her black coat trailing after her, and approaches Angela with a sly look to her face, secretive yet somehow thoughtful in appearance.

“I find it interesting,” Binah reaches for her, fingers extended towards her face, when Angela steps away, narrowing her eyes. “Why are you so hung up on that grim reaper? The Angela I know wouldn’t dare get herself attached to the toys she plays with.”

Angela tilts her head up. “Are you saying that I don’t have the capacity to care about others?”

“Not so.” Binah purses her lips. “Rather, I think you’re too careless.”

“Careless?”

“You’re reaching for a black hole,” the woman responds. “You want a void to fill a void. An eye for an eye. But voids lead to more voids and one eye plucked out is one eye less to put back in.”

“I don’t appreciate your roundabout way of speaking.”

“Neither do I,” Gebura adds. She walks to Binah’s side, poking the woman’s waist with the butt of her sword. Binah turns her gaze to her, smiling in a way that is almost menacing as she bats the sword away. 

“Let’s put it this way.” Binah continues. “I’m quite amused by the way you dance so helplessly. Though you’re no longer a puppet on strings, you’re still a puppet of the heart. The downfall of humanity, honestly. Even I’m not infallible by it, as much as I would like to put such thoughts to rest.” 

Here, Binah raises her hand from Gebura’s sword to the woman’s hair, tangling her fingers in locks of red and pressing them to her lips. Gebura scowls at the woman, narrowing her eyes, but there is an unruly sense of patience about her, as if Binah’s actions are to be tolerated instead of hated.

Angela watches the display put into place before her with raised eyebrows, wondering at Binah’s game, before the woman turns to her, lips curling upwards with an obvious leer.

“You may be part machine, Angela,” Binah says, her voice losing its uncanny tone of enigmaticness, “but you are also part human now, so you have to reap what you sow. That includes, of course, those desires of yours that are slowly growing inside of you.”

“My desires?” Angela frowns. “I’ve always desired things. My freedom. Humanity. Revenge. What more do I have left to desire?”

Binah clicks her tongue. “And here I thought I was being obvious.” She sighs, peeling herself away from Gebura. She approaches Angela, leaning over her. “How long before you awaken? No, I suppose it’s not that long. A void reaching for a void will consume itself eventually, after all. It’s just a matter of when.”

Beside her, Gebura heaves a sigh. “That’s enough riddles for one day. I’m growing tired just listening to them.” She taps her sword on her shoulders. “Come on now, we were having a battle. It’s about time we got back to it.”

“Sure, love,” Binah says, smiling as Gebura’s face flashes red. She nods at Angela. “Well, as she’s said, we have a battle to finish. And as much as I love to tell stories to you, Angela, I think I’ve said enough to get your mind stirring.”

“...” Angela frowns, opening her mouth to continue anyways, when Binah suddenly jumps forward. Angela is then left sighing as she steps away from the havoc that follows. She watches as red and black clash, blurring in a fight of bloodthirst, before she turns on her heels, realizing that she’s going to hear nothing further. 

She exits Binah’s floor, stepping up stairs to head to Chesed’s floor before she ascends floor by floor, pondering the conversation she has left behind.

It’s annoying, honestly. If Binah’s words ring true, then Angela is repeating an unfortunate cycle. One she despises at that, especially when her individuality has already been ripped from her once before so she could be fashioned in the image of another. But that’s the thing: Roland is not the type to idolize her as if she is another. She’s certain he’s not. He doesn’t see her as a replacement. Can’t. Angela refuses to believe so.

Yet she doesn’t truly know that, and that makes her uncomfortable. 

She doesn’t know, and she doesn’t understand, and it’s frustrating. Day by day it feels like more and more things are getting out of her reach about Roland. Why he has never given her an answer to her offer...why he can’t seem to look her in the eye when she asks for one...why he feels so close to her yet so far away and no matter how much she reaches for him he always backs away...

She’s afraid to push but she’s afraid of a lot of things. Her relationship with Roland is fragile, like a porcelain pot. He is of value to her, has the same glistening shine of the pot in question: the allure of its presence in her own. But one careful misstep, one happy accident, and that pot that is him will shatter by her own hands, broken and irreparable. And even if she can fix what has been destroyed, she knows it won’t be the same: porcelain shards cutting into her feet and tarnished pottery unable to be fully stitched together.

She wants to keep that porcelain pot within her grasp, to admire it and cherish its worth. But if the pot is slippery, covered in a slick layer of uncertainty, then the pot is bound to break eventually, is it not?

And it’s at this point that Angela takes Binah’s words into consideration. If her words are true, and Roland’s niceties are formed from the basis of a similarity - the familiarity of his wife, dead and cold yet replaced by the living - then is it not right for Angela to let that pot slip from her hands, realizing that she cannot grasp onto something that will fall anyways? 

She retires for the evening, thoughts storming inside her head as she thinks of the man whose aloof kindness has captured her attention. If all his smiling words and teasing jabs are to be believed, then is it possible she’s been misconstruing his intentions? Is it possible that Angela is looking at Roland for himself, but that he is looking at her as a replacement for someone who has not yet left his sights?

“I don’t want to become Carmen again,” she tells herself, ascending upwards and upwards, musing without pleasure. “Therefore, I shall not repeat the mistakes of the past.”

But the mistakes of the past are different from the present. Angela once clung to Ayin out of need, desperate for his eyes and desperate for his love. With Roland, however, she keeps her distance: knowing better than to reach for what isn’t hers but still hoping nonetheless. 

So perhaps it’s best to ignore this craving in her chest, the insidious need to clutch him close that eats at her like a dog. She is fond of Roland, that much is true, but she refuses to be made a replacement for someone else again. If what Binah says is true, then Angela needs to confront him. Immediately. To clear up the air between them, to put her fears and worries to rest. 

After all, if she is to be rejected yet again, she would rather know up front, rather than be chasing endlessly after yet another wish she cannot have.

~~~

Roland is resting on the Keter floor when she approaches him. He’s draped against one of the leather couches in her domain, an arm covering his eyes as he rests. However, she can tell from the way he reacts to her footsteps that he’s aware of her presence. His dozing movements - the soft exhale of air, the stillness of his body, the nestling against leather plush - become more active, his limbs stirring as if to anticipate what she will ask of him.

“Is what Binah says true?”

His movement stiffen. Angela watches as he removes his arm from his face, black eyes appearing to look at her.

“What do you mean?” He asks, tone nonchalant but a trace of wariness even still.

“Am I...a replacement for your wife?”

Instantly, Roland’s voice darkens. “ _Tch_.” The man gives a long sigh. “Angela...I didn’t think I needed to say this but I...don’t see you in any way like my wife. Sure, you remind me of her a little, but I’m not so foolish as to think you are a replacement for her.”

Something about the coldness in his tone surprises her. She can’t help the way she flinches, quieting as she continues speaking. “So what am I to you?”

He stares at her, his gaze holding hers. He’s not avoiding her gaze, but it’s not quite like he’s looking at her either. Rather, Roland’s gaze is distant: unreachable, like the City beyond. There’s silence between them - the quiet of nothing said, nothing felt, nothing done - and Angela has neither the will nor courage to break it. 

Then, Roland drapes his arm back over his eyes, cutting the connection between them as he heaves a sigh.

“I don’t know, Angela.”

The answer hurts more than she expects it to, sinking into her as the illusion she’s always clung to - the image of Roland standing beside her, smiling as he shows her the world he walks in - begins to curl inwards, burning in the flames of reality. 

Still, she might have expected this - the uncertainty, the hesitance, the _realization_ that her understanding of their relationship is different from his. She takes this epiphany in hand, ignoring the shakiness of her hands, her heart, her _burning eyes_ as she offers him a nod, knowing he cannot see her do so but feeling the need to do it anyways.

Angela turns, beginning to walk away. Her heels click on the floor beneath her, loud and obnoxious, clattering too much for her frustration, when a voice follows, low and soft.

“Angela?”

She pauses, hearing Roland’s voice haunting her ears. She turns to look at him, not knowing what further to expect, but is surprised to see how his face is twisted with pain.

“Yes?” She asks him, voice impatient.

“I…” He looks like he’s struggling to speak, opening his mouth and closing it. “I’m sorry.”

To that, she says nothing.

~~~

The Library has made a name for itself.

That has always been obvious. The Library, according to its guests, is infamous. It wields information beyond one’s imagination, tells of the secrets of the Wings and reveals the mysteries of the phenomena that have made the City what it is. Everyone craves its wisdom just as everyone craves its invitation.

Unfortunately for Angela, this also means an overwhelming number of invitees to contend with.

The increase in guests is not unsettling: to be fair, she _has_ been expecting more guests the more frenzied the rumors of her establishment have become. Rather, she’s noticed with some concern the way her Librarians now struggle to beat their opponents, huffing and puffing as they barely stand on two legs, books in hand.

Even Gebura, who is a seasoned Fixer and Binah, a former Arbiter of the City, have trouble dealing with the people who come their way. 

“Feels like I haven’t fought in years,” Gerbera complains, leaning on the end of her sword.

“You’re one to whine,” Binah says with a sneer on her lips. However, the sneer looks almost half-hearted as the woman turns to Angela. “Greetings, Head Librarian. Here to watch us suffer for our sins?”

“I see you two are struggling just as much as the rest,” she acknowledges. “Keep up the good work. If you do, we might see the end of this soon enough.”

“Sure hope so,” Gebura says. “It’d be nice to get out into the City again. Fresh start, fresh living. I’d go back to saving nobodies in a heartbeat.”

“A goody two-shoes as always,” Binah snorts.

“What about you, Binah?” Angela inquires. “Are you going back to work for the Head when all is said and done?”

“Would a lioness who has gone through death be invited into a pride that sees her as a corpse?” Binah offers up a wave of the hand. “When this work of yours is over, Angela, I may as well go back to killing poor helpless things on the streets. It’s fun killing those who wander here, but there’s no fun in lambs who are leading themselves to slaughter, no?”

It is at this moment Roland enters. He looks between the three woman, offering them all varying glances of wariness, before dipping his head in a show of respect.

“Kali,” he says to Gebura, “...Binah,” he says with some hesitance to the leering woman, “Angela,” he offers as he comes to her side.

“The puppy meets its master,” Binah says with a curling smile. “How do you do, dog of the books?”

“Don’t listen to her,” Gebura says, pinching her nose and grabbing for a pack of cigarettes. She takes out a cigarette, grabs a lighter, and lights it up. The smell of tobacco filters into the air. Angela wrinkles her nose while Binah makes a move to grab a cigarette from Gebura’s hands. “She’s no more than a dog herself, honestly. Just one let loose from her leash, so watch the hell out.”

“Say you love me and move on already,” Binah huffs, the end of her cigarette turning red by the flame in Gebura’s hand. The black-haired woman turns to Roland, appraising him. The man seems uncomfortable, scratching the back of his neck, but it’s clear to see the struggle he has with the reverence he holds for Gebura and the clear concern he has for Binah’s presence. 

Angela watches as Roland takes a step closer to her, either out of a need for protection or out of fear for his own safety. There is something almost amusing about that: the way Roland stands at her side as if to ward off the approach of the women before him. 

Angela obliges his presence, offering him a nod of her head as he sidles alongside her.

“I’ll take that warning to heart,” Roland says, a nervousness to the laugh in his voice. He looks at the cigarette in Gebura’s hand. “Where did you even get these? Doesn’t Angela...I mean, don’t _you_ ban this kind of stuff somehow?”

Angela meets Roland’s flustered gaze with a sigh. “I do. Doesn’t stop this one from pulling them out of nowhere.”

Gebura snorts. Binah leers.

“Regardless,” Angela sighs, “we’re getting closer and closer to my goal. Once the perfect book is found, you will no longer have to fight for me. When that time comes, I fully expect you to run off and leave me to fend for myself.”

“Didn’t take you for a cynic. Though, I suppose it fits.” Gebura frowns. “Still...while it’s true I’m probably not gonna stay cooped up here, it feels wrong of you to say you’ll be all alone. You’ve got the other Librarian’s, don’t ya? And Roland here, of course.”

“I’m not going to force the Librarians to stay by my side. If I do that, I’d be no better than Ayin. Enslaving you all just to keep me company...I couldn’t dream of forcing you to stay here any longer than necessary. Once your part is done on this stage, I will let you all go, no questions asked. Those who want to stay with me can. But,” Angela turns to Roland, “my offer to you still stands. If you choose not to accept it however, I won’t hate you for it.”

Gebura whistles. “You got an offer from the Head Director herself?” She pulls out her cigarette, flicking it away, and Angela snaps her fingers, letting it disintegrate in thin air as Gebura reaches for another stick. “What kind of offer did you give him, Angela?”

“The opportunity to come with me as I explore the City and beyond,” Angela says. 

“A personal escort, in other words?” Binah inquires with a look of interest.

“A friend,” Angela answers levelly. 

She turns to Roland, noticing his lack of input. It is to be expected, especially after their last conversation, but it still hurts nonetheless. 

“If it comes to it, however, I do not mind being alone.” She says. “It’s only expected. You all have your own lives to live. Well, so do I. When I’m free, I shall go as I please. You may follow me, you may not. I don’t care. What matters is that I find the thing that will make me human. Once I reach that ending, you are all free from the story you’ve become trapped inside.”

Gebura looks at the both of them, snorts again, and then expels a cloud of cigarette smoke. Her gaze is pensive, but she looks too impatient to ask a question. “Well, I’m outta here. Need some rest before the next fight. Call me again when you need me, Angela.”

She walks off. Binah’s gaze follows after her, a smirk curling on cold lips as she says: “It’s no fun without that one here. I’ll take my leave too then. But, I’m always happy to work with you when you need me, Angela. Killing is my specialty, after all.”

The woman smiles, disappearing down the path Gebura had gone, leaving Angela in the presence of Roland. The man shifts on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Are you really intending to leave this place all alone if it came down to it?” He asks after a long, painful pause. “I know you’re strong and powerful but...the City isn’t as safe as it is here. There will always be someone stronger than you. There will always be someone smarter than you. If you make enemies with the wrong people, your life is forfeit and no one can protect you. Are you...are you sure you want a life like that?”

“That’s what I’ve been reading these books for, isn’t it? To prepare myself for the outside world?”

“Yeah but...well, like they say, seeing is believing. And, well, you can’t exactly say living in the City is easy until you’ve been there yourself.”

“Is that you showing concern to me?”

He blinks. “Nah,” Roland sticks his hands in his pockets, frowning. “Just talking some sense. The City may seem interesting with its stories to tell and its people to meet, but your neck is always on the line, day in and day out. It’s a rotten world. And you’re not exactly the kind of rotten to be able to survive it.”

“Even so, I don’t want to be caged here. I want to go, see, _do_. What meaning is there in my life if I’m trapped here forever?”

“Suppose there’s not any.” He shifts on his feet, rubbing the back of his head. “But, as strong and powerful as you are, being alone out there can suck. It’s not easy. It’s not a life you can just...get used to. Especially since it seems you’ve always been surrounded by people who want to help you. The City...isn’t like that.”

“For someone who cares little about responding to my offer in a timely manner, you sure make it a point to express strong concern about my wellbeing.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t just sit idly by and watch someone I know think the City is all glitz and glamor. It wouldn’t be right of me to let that illusion last.”

“I’m well aware that the City isn’t a place of paradise, Roland.” She can’t help the annoyance in her voice as she scowls. “But, it’s no better being stuck here. How would you like it, stuck in this place forever?”

Here, he scowls back. “You got me there, m’am.”

She clicks her tongue, turning on her heels, but is quick to notice the way he follows her through the corridors of the library. She turns her head to the side, golden eyes watching him, and frowns.

“I understand your fears,” she says, speaking of the concern in his brow, “but I’m fine with being alone. I always have been. When the Library closes and I am gone from its confines, it is only expected that everyone will leave me and I, too, will leave this place alone.”

There’s a deep inhale of air from her companion, closed eyes and flaring nostrils. Roland rubs the bridge of his nose, keeping stride, but she can tell right away he’s got something to say. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and then snaps it shut. He stays beside her, shoulders tensing, before he finally decides to speak. 

“Hey,” he says, voice soft and cautious, “your offer...I’m still thinking about it.”

Her voice matches his own, light and airy despite the tightness in her throat. Maybe there’s hope after all. But she’d be foolish to believe that, wouldn’t she? Even still, she finds herself saying: “Then I hope the time will come when you’re ready to give me your answer. I’m waiting, you know.”

“Yeah,” he says, almost defeated, “I know.”

~~~

Angela does not sleep. As a machine, she is long since accustomed to being awake at every hour, always prepared to make decisions even when other individuals slumber under the light of a glimmering moon. Her body is not appropriate for the functions of sleep, her inner machinery moving onwards always without the need for repair or reprieve.

It is in this way that Angela is a little envious of the others in her domain, passing by the bodies of those who slumber on couches and beds and floorboards and carpet, as she finds herself roaming the hallways of her Library in utter boredom.

There is still so much to be done - so much so that she honestly ought not to be wandering around at times like these - but she finds she can’t help herself. The Library is so quiet at these hours, so painfully bereft of the chatter of her Librarians and their daily duties, that Angela often finds herself patrolling the various floors in hope for enlightenment.

However, as she passes through each section of her Library, she realizes there is little to entertain her. The lower level Sephirot have already passed out on Netzach’s floor, several bottles of liquor left empty as their owner clings to the sleeping trio of Yesod, Hod, and Malkuth. Tiphereth is resting in the window of her floor, resting under the shine of silvery moonlight as if waiting for someone to come and meet her. Chesed and Gebura, the last of the revived Sephirot she deems to visit, are tucked together on a bed Angela has made for them, secured in a corner of Chesed’s floor with several cups of coffee strewn around.

On the Keter floor, however, Angela is surprised to see the appearance of a light flickering in the distance. As she climbs up polished wooden steps, she finds that unlike the rest of her Librarians, Roland has not taken the time to go to sleep. Instead, he seems to be secluded beside several piles of books, eyes reading over one of them as he rubs at his eyes.

“Roland.”

The man jumps, flailing so wildly that the books stacked around him are sent flying. His face is so filled with shock that she almost finds herself regretting spooking him so carelessly.

“Relax,” she tells him, coming to stand before him and bending down. “I’m not here to ambush you.”

“Sure scared the hell out of me,” he says after a moment, breathing heavily as he runs his fingers through his bangs. “I didn’t think you’re the type to sleepwalk, either.”

“I can’t sleep.”

He frowns. “You can’t?”

Angela shakes her head. “Part of being a machine.” She tells him. “My creator made me specifically so I would never rest.”

“Never?” He glances at her. “So that means you can’t dream, right?”

“Dream?” Angela tastes the word in her mouth, taking a seat beside him. “I’m afraid I never have. Dreams sound exciting, though. They sound like stories waiting to be enjoyed. When I’m human, I want to be able to dream like you all do.”

“Ha...dreams aren’t all wonderful.” He rubs at his eyes. “They can be painful and terrifying too, you know.”

“In what way?” She brings her legs to her chest, hands planted on either side of her.

“They can be reminders of the past.” He sighs, his eyes closing shut only to flutter open. Angela notices with some concern that the underside of his eyes look blackened, dark crescent moons invading his skin. “Often, when I go to sleep, I see _her_ in my dreams.”

She tilts her head. “Your wife?”

“Mm.” He rubs at his eyes, yawns, and seems to be resisting something as he fidgets with a book. “Often times, it’s the good stuff. We’re eating pajeon together or fighting side by side on some Fixer work. She’s kissing me, holding my hand, saying my name and I…” He swallows. There’s a hoarseness to his voice, as if he hasn’t spoken for years. “And then I see her body right in front of me, see the blood all around her, and suddenly what was once a dream becomes a nightmare.”

“...” Angela doesn’t say anything, but finds herself reaching out a hand. Her fingers are outstretched, reaching for the man before her. Then, she realizes with a flinch what she’s doing and lets her hand drop to her side.

“Honestly, it’s so frustrating to go to sleep and see her there. I can reach out to her there. Hold her. Touch her. It’s like I can’t forget her, you know?” Roland’s voice cracks. “I miss her so, so much. I want to see her again, to dream of her and hug her and tell her that I’m sorry I never got to say goodbye to her...but then I see her dead over and over again in my arms and I really don’t know if it’s worth dreaming of her anymore.”

Roland’s shoulders shudder and Angela watches as he quickly raises an arm to wipe at his eyes. He does so furiously, as if he doesn’t want Angela to see, but she still catches sight of the tears leaking from his face. 

“Roland?”

He gives a wobbling smile, still hiding his face behind his hands and arms. Roland opens his mouth to speak, lips moving but no words coming out. Instead, there’s just a sob that wracks his body. After a moment, he seems to calm down. For his shuddering subsides and he lays down on the pile of books strewn behind him.

“Sorry, Angela.” He says, voice pained. “I’d like to be alone for a little bit.”

She frowns at that, wanting to do _something_ to ease the whimpers she hears from him, before she sighs and gets to her feet. Her skirt swishes around her, whispering in the light of Roland’s lanturn, before she turns on her heels, intent on obeying the request to leave.

She leaves the Keter floor behind, escaping into Malkuth’s own, but as she moves down stone steps, she finds herself clutching at her dress jacket. Something about seeing Roland break down in front of her makes her ache with a strangeness. She’s never seen him like this before, worn and tarnished like a neglected porcelain pot, and it troubles her to think of the way he’s hiding his anguish from her. 

Angela looks back at the stairs that lead to Roland, hesitating on the final step of Malkuth’s floor. 

_It’s not too late,_ she tells herself. _I could go back and talk to him._

But she finds herself frozen, as if it’s impossible for her to turn around and move back up the stairs she’s just descended from. A burning sense of something unsettling pricks at her, holding her hostage even as she yearns to return to Roland’s side.

Angela can’t quite explain it. Her feet are rooted to the floor but her body is twisting for the chance to return. Her heart cries out in some alien form of anguish and yet her brain is telling her to leave Roland behind. After all, it was what he had requested of her, wasn’t it? And wasn’t she thus obligated to abide by his wishes, to leave his sight so he could cry in the peacefulness of the Library? 

So then why...why does she feel so guilty while continuing on her journey through Malkuth’s floor? Why does she feel like she’s choosing the easier option out, like she’s ignoring a possibility that’s right in front of her? Is it because she’s a coward? Is it because she doesn’t quite understand the pangs that poke at her, unable to determine why Roland’s crying face haunts her so?

Angela doesn’t have an answer, and it’s frustrating. Torn between her sense of obligation and the stirrings in her chest, she chooses to stay true to her word, progressing through the floors of the Library as if she has not just encountered a man who is too afraid of his wife’s specter to go to sleep.

~~~

There are no guests in the Library today, but that doesn’t stop the Sephirot from continuing to make the Library feel alive.

On the Floor of Literature, Hod is holding a massive reading group. Somehow, someway, she’s convinced the likes of Malkuth, Yesod and Netzach to join in with their assistants sitting alongside them as they discuss the book of choice. From what Angela gathers, they’re reading about the Smoke War of the City, each taking turns to pinpoint the cause and effect of the event. Netzach looks positively tired, napping on Yesod’s shoulder, while Malkuth is debating Hod heatedly on the consequences of the war.

On the Floor of Natural Sciences, Tiphereth is attending to her Librarians with discussions of the books in hand, discussing theories of scientific practices alongside thoughts on the biology, physics, and chemistry of certain parts of the City. Her Librarians are rapt with attention, listening to Tiphrereth go into great detail on the hypothetical biological make-up of the “Distortions” that haunt the City, and as Angela passes she can hear them badgering Tiphereth with questions just as her statement comes to a close.

On the Floor of Language, Angela sees Chesed and Gebura’s groups together, both sets of Librarians arguing over the beginning point of Korean as the dominant language of the City, and Angela is not at all surprised to see how heated the Patron Librarians are. Gebura is pointedly arguing her case, stating firmly how the Korean language became dominant only after the City was colonized by those who spoke the language and mandated its use after taking charge. Chesed, however, seems to disagree, sipping from his coffee as he makes a move to refute her statement. He then makes the claim that Korean manifested as the dominant language not because of the ones in charge, but because a majority of the City’s people already spoke its tongue.

This, of course, sets the two against each other, with Gebura giving arguments that are just as flawed as Chesed’s own. Angela watches the dispute from afar, wary of what her presence might do to such an interesting conversation, before Chesed offers Gebura his cup of coffee as a form of a temporary truce. Gebura takes it grudgingly, sipping from the drink, and there’s whispers of an “indirect kiss” that soon follow from their fellow Librarians.

Gebura’s face flushes, but she doesn’t deny the accusations as Angela proceeds onwards. 

On the Floor of Religion, Angela finds herself surprised to see Binah and Hokma together. The pair are discussing the philosophy of religion in the City - wondering at the meaning of faith in a logical system that’s no longer dominated by the old world's religions - and it’s with some curiosity that Angela watches from afar.

Binah is talking to Hokma in her typical formal fashion of enigma, dancing around his words with philosophical questions he answers readily. But there’s almost something interesting about the way she does it, circling the seat Hokma sits on to let her fingers slide over the silk of his outfit. Binah is smiling, haughty as she holds a cup of tea, and Hokma seems to be wary of her movements, speaking clearly yet with his eyes following her wandering limbs. 

In some ways, there is tension between the two - tension that might make sense, considering what Angela knows of them. Hokma had once assisted Ayin in using Binah’s brain for his own purposes. Binah had despised being trapped staring into the “well” of Lobotomy Corporation - a sentiment which Angela shared, in some respects. But the tension shared among the two here is not exactly that of hatred: it’s of something else rather peculiar. Binah seems almost teasing in the manner in which she touches Hokma: Hokma seems wary, as if he’s about to recoil from her hand, but the discomfort in his posture is met with the way he inadvertently leans into her touch ever so slightly.

Angela watches the two of them, curious about the extent of the “dance” shown between them, before she decides better of it, not wanting to deal with the two in any way, shape or form. So, instead, she heads up to the Keter floor, meeting with Roland as she notices him organizing books into stacks.

He greets her as she enters his floor, heaving up one pile of books and moving it just to the right of her, under a sign that says “Floor of Art”. Angela peers at the pile, noting the colorful pictures of stained glass that are etched on paper covers. She nods her head, noting the tidiness of the pile as she says her own greetings.

“Looks like you’re just about caught up on work,” she tells him.

“Yeah,” he says, “really helps that we haven’t had any guests recently. Thought I was going to break my back delivering books last week.”

She smiles at that. “Well, considering you’re still standing, your back seems not to have broken yet.”

He snorts at that, taking a seat on a nearby desk. “So, what did you come here for?” Roland asks her. “Knowing you, you’re not much for idle chatter.”

“And what if I said I was here just for that?”

The man blinks at her. “Well then, I suppose I’d have to say you’ve surprised me, Miss Head Director.”

There’s a lilt of a tease in his voice. Angela has missed it. Ever since Binah, he’s grown rather dour. Now, however, it feels as if his old self has popped back up again, a grin on his face as he beckons her to sit alongside him.

She obliges, feeling the coldness of the desk beneath her.

“I don’t have much to do today either,” she tells him. “The Sephirot are all too busy with each other to give me reports today.”

“You mean to say you’ve left them alone this time?” He asks. When she glances at him, he elaborates. “The Patron Librarians have complained to me about you barging in on them during the climax of their discussions.” 

“Yes,” she says dryly, remembering all too well how she’s been whined to by Netzach for interrupting a drinking party and ranted at by Tiphereth for demanding a report in the middle of a book dissection. “I thought it best to leave them to their devices this time around. They all seem so close and it feels like almost a shame to interrupt them when they’re so focused on their tasks.”

Her companion laughs at that. “Yeah, and they’ll probably appreciate you for it.” He grins. “So, what do you plan to do now then? Aside from making small talk with me, of course?”

“I suppose nothing much. I’ve yet to receive the next invitation and there’s not much else to do while I wait on the Patron Librarians.”

“So then, do you want to grab a drink? From Netzach, of course?” Roland asks her.

She eyes him. “A drink?”

“Some beer.” He hooks his thumbs into the pockets of his pants. “Just for fun.”

“I’d rather not,” she sighs. “I’ve seen you get drunk before. It seems like such a chore to try and get wasted like that.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes. “I know it’s not for everyone, either.”

She clicks her tongue but does not get to comment any further. For, as she opens her mouth, something shines in front of her - a glittering rectangle of light which simmers into reality. Angela reaches for it, knowing exactly what it is, and as her fingertips touch luminance the rectangle solidifies into a red invitation.

“Whew, already?” Roland asks, jumping off from the desk. “Who are we fighting this time?”

“Let’s go and see,” she tells him, beckoning Roland to follow after her. He does so, pursuing her to the table where all invitations are read. She sets down the invitation and watches it glow once again, before a holographic screen flickers into existence, depicting a part of the City Angela has not seen before.

A snow-covered landscape full of metal walls and metal train tracks greets her gaze. It’s night time, with glowing golden lanterns illuminating what looks to be streets covered with snowfall. There is something almost desolate about the sight - cold and lonely, like an area abandoned to all but its viewers - until a woman creeps into sight.

She’s a stark contrast to that of the white biome behind her, purple in every aspect aside from the tan of her skin and the amber of her eyes. Her hair is lavender-colored and wrapped up in a ponytail that falls to the area just above her hips. She wears a violet jacket threaded with strings of iris, a lavender cravat complimenting the lilac pants she wears. Her expression is stern, almost thoughtful, but there is an uncanny leer on her lips, power following her every move as she wields a golden rapier that cuts all in her path.

Her unlucky opponents are a bunch of blue-cloaked fiends who come at her from the shadows. They are cut down one-by-one, killed like rabbits and left to stain the snowy ground below. As she continues, however, she seems to stop, stilling tremendously, before she suddenly whips around to hold her rapier before her.

A scythe meets her own weapon, the blade at the top reaching for her neck. The purple-cloaked woman snarls, defending her own against the sudden attacker.

“My, my,” the man known as Argalia twitters, jumping back to land elegantly. A shower of snow sparkles around him, a mere haze of glitter that shines brilliantly as the white-haired man hums. “Don’t be that way, Purple Tear. I just came to say hello!”

“Back off, bastard,” the woman known as Purple Tear says with a growl to her voice. “You don’t think I know what you’re doing, Blue Reverberation?”

“And what am I doing?” Argalia waltzes forth, swiping his scythe across the snowy landscape.

“Trying to take down the Heads.” Purple Tear holds her rapier before her, stiffening in anticipation. “They’ve caught on, you know.”

“Good. Maybe now they know what it’s like to watch something they’ve built crumble down in front of them.” Argalia smiles a sneering smile. “All the better. Once I’m done, your days as a colorful electric sheep will be over. Isn’t that great, love?”

“ _Don’t_ call me such a disgusting pet name,” Purple Tear spits. “Unlike all you traitors, I’m one of the last Colors left trying to keep this city safe from your stupidity. First it was the Red Mist and her betrayal, then it was the Black Silence and his madness. After that it was the Colors who’ve just disappeared from their duties without a word. Now it’s you and your Ensemble goon squad. Can’t the Colors around here _have some fucking sense?_ ” 

“Wait a second.” Her opponent smiles. “Red Mist? Black Silence? Dead?” Argalia laughs. “Are you sure about that?”

“The Red Mist disappeared ten years ago, that much is true,” Purple Tear says after a pause. “But a Color like her can’t go missing that long without resurfacing eventually. Considering that hasn’t happened, she’s more than likely dead.”

“And the Black Silence?”

“As for that man, I took care of him myself. He lost his money, his power, his influence and I sent him to the Library to die by its whims. I’ve never seen him since. He’s as good as gone now.”

Angela’s eyebrows raise upwards at this comment. She turns to Roland, questioning the words she’s just heard, but the man is more focused on Purple Tear’s words, a darkening frown on his face.

“But are you sure he’s dead for realsies?” Argalia asks, prancing forward.

“What do you mean?” Purple Tear holds out her rapier. “I sent him there myself. If he’d escaped, I’d know.”

Argalia tilts his head, blue eyes searching the landscape around them to meet with the eyes of Angela and Roland. He smiles, his gaze knowing, before he turns back to Purple Tear. “Well, my dear, I think you underestimate our old Color friend. After all, a special source tells me he’s still alive and kicking.”

“ _Ridiculous_.” Purple Tear says, holding up her rapier as Argalia approaches. “Everyone who ends up at the Library has never come out alive.”

“A man named Phillip did. A girl called Mars, too.” Argalia hums, stepping closer and closer without a care in the world. “It’s possible to escape that place. Or did your arrogance make you think otherwise?”

The man dashes forward, swinging his scythe down upon her. Purple Tear counters, snarling, and the two move in a blur of colors. Angela watches the proceedings with curiosity, drawn to the elegance of the fight, before she realizes that Argalia seems to be toying with Purple Tear, feigning blows and laughing while she struggles.

“The Black Silence can’t be alive. He’s been stripped of everything. And I doubt the robot that runs the Library would be so kind as to let him live.”

Angela curls her lips at the word _robot_ , anger taking her at the remembrance of that which she is slowly losing. She makes a move to forcefully end the invitation’s hologram session, immediately wanting to hear no more, but an insistent hand on her elbow has her pausing in her movements.

“What?” She snaps at her companion.

“Not yet.” Roland tells her. “ _Please_.”

She relents reluctantly, obliging his wishes as she allows the invitation to continue playing. 

In it, during the time of her distraction, she finds that Argalia has tired Purple Tear immensely. The woman is huffing, her rapier held strong before her but sweat slickening her skin. Purple Tear is glaring at Argalia, looking frustrated, while the man draped in blue stands proudly, idly swinging his scythe all around him. 

“I’ll give you two options,” Argalia says. “You can surrender and happily join me, or you can run away like the little sheep you are and cry yourself to sleep in the Library’s arms.”

“Why would I join your merry band of monsters?” The woman glares at him, her figure dissipating into thin air as Argalia swings his scythe down upon her. Angela watches in fascination as she reappears a few dozen steps away from where she had been standing, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. “I live to serve the City. Not destroy it. So there’s no way in hell I’m going to bow my head to you!”

“A shame, really.” Argalia sighs, a hand on his forehead as he gives a dramatic swoon. “I would love nothing more than to take your hand and romp around a bloodstained battlefield. You’re very powerful, you see, and those dimension-hopping powers of yours are oh-so-lovely. With them, we could go many places together. Literally, of course.”

The man steps forward, swinging again, but Purple Tear repeats her vanishing act. One moment, she’s standing in the path of his scythe, in the next she’s reappearing behind him, swinging her rapier just a millisecond too late at Argalia’s back.

“Tsk. Those powers of yours are so useful! Yet you waste them so eagerly! Think of all the things you could do, love, if you were not chained to the rules of being an electric colored sheep!”

Purple Tear’s knees are shaking now, but the look in her eyes is stubborn. Her rapier is held before her, trembling, and it is undeniable how she looks about to collapse at any moment now.

Argalia seems to notice, for he smiles a cold smile. His eyes are empty as he gazes upon her, dead and emotionless. There is something chilling about that expression - as if he is gazing at something he no longer cares anything about and wishes to finish it off. 

“You rely so much on your powers that you forget how weak they make you,” the man says. “Should I rectify that for you? Seeing as you no longer hold use to me, I have no choice but to eliminate you entirely.”

The man swoops forward, aiming for the woman, but she flickers out of existence. Argalia spins on his heels, frowning, and when Purple Tear surfaces a few feet away from him, gasping and collapsed on the snow, he hums a merry tune. 

“Time for you to go now, I suppose. A shame. I would’ve enjoyed employing your skillset in my plans.” Argalia approaches, his scythe held up above her. “However, it seems our time together has got to end.”

Argalia swings down his scythe, but he meets empty air.

Purple Tear vanishes, but does not reappear.

Argalia touches his fingers to his lips, smiling cruelly as he turns towards where Angela and Roland are, seemingly looking at them as he says: “I’ve sent her your way. Be sure to take care of her, huh, dear friend?”

As the invitation flickers, ready to end it’s transmission, Angela catches sight of someone moving in the background. A white-haired woman peaks around the corner of a metal wall, her face shadowed but a smile on her lips. She seems to sense Angela’s gaze. For, she holds a finger to her lips, slipping back into obscurity just as the invitation comes to a close.

“Who was that?” Angela asks her companion.

“Who? Purple Tear?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “That woman. At the end.”

“What woman?” He looks at her in confusion.

“Didn’t you see her?”

Roland frowns. “No, I guess I didn’t.”

Angela quiets, wondering if she had just imagined the woman’s appearance, when a crackling sound filters into her ears. She tenses, feeling a threat creeping into her proximity, and is surprised to watch the way a familiar person flickers into view.

Purple Tear emerges from thin air, landing down onto the ground. Unlike the her they have just seen in the invitation, she looks relatively more rested. There’s still sweat on her skin and a huff to her breath, but it seems her time between her disappearance in the City and her reappearance in the Library has given her a moment of reprieve. She glares at Angela, holding up her rapier, before her gaze turns to Roland and a look of angry shock unfolds on her face.

“You!” She snarls. “You’re supposed to be dead!”

“So I’ve heard,” Roland says, his tone frosty as he faces the purple-cloaked woman in front of him. “You’re the one who sent me to the Library then?”

“Wasn’t it obvious? Don’t you remember the job I sent you on? To look into the Library?” She looks at Angela, sneering. “And here you are, so shunned by humanity that you’re now making friends with a machine. You’ve fallen so low, Black Silence, so very low.”

Angela looks between the woman and Roland. She notices her companion is tensing, a curl on his lips, but there’s also a sense of betrayal written on his face, as if he’s aghast by the words snarled in his direction.

Sighing, Angela narrows her eyes at Purple Tear, stepping in front of her companion. Her arm brushes his as she does so - a gesture meant to offer him reassurance - and when she feels Roland shifting behind her, she makes her move to speak.

“Where’s your invitation?” Angela asks, not bothering to mask the iciness in her voice. “If you’re going to insult my friend, you better have good reason to be here. I will _not_ tolerate an unwelcome presence in my Library.”

“How funny. You speak like a human and act like one too. But there’s no hiding when a machine is a machine.” Purple Tear runs her fingers through her hair. “But, not like I care about some robot. Black Silence, you should have paid long ago for what you did.”

Here, Angela hears Roland swallow behind her. She glances back at him, golden eyes observing the bob of his Adam’s apple as he shrinks away. 

“I apologized for that already by doing everything you asked me to do, didn’t I?” Roland says, before his voice quiets as he adds: “I didn’t mean to kill her.”

“Just like you didn’t mean to kill everyone else in the City? You went on a _massacre_ , Black Silence. That’s not something I will forgive. Even if the Heads stripped you of your status and your money, even if your wife is dead and you’ve fallen so low so as to end up as some robot’s lapdog, I will _never_ forgive you for taking my daughter from me.”

Angela’s eyes widen, and then narrow. She turns to Roland, her gaze imploring despite the fact she knows she’s not going to get an answer right now.

“What do you want me to do?” Roland asks. “The damage that’s been done is done, I know that! Just…” He turns to Angela, his gaze floundering, as if he can’t manage to actually look at her. His voice quiets as he looks away. “...I don’t want to talk about this. I’ve tried to repent, haven’t I? I took your request to come to the Library and prove myself sane again, right? Then again, it looks like you never intended to let me leave.”

“Because I can’t!” Purple Tear snarls. “You’ve already disrupted the balance of the City once before. You’ve killed my daughter and others like her. All because you couldn’t keep your cool when your wife died. It was my job to get rid of you quietly, before you could even _think_ of committing more crimes. And yet here you are, killing more and more people. And you talk about repenting? What a hypocrite!”

At this point, Angela feels as if she’s heard enough. She spreads out an arm as if to protect the man behind her, curling her lips as she says: “He has no choice but to. I’m the one forcing him to kill. If you’re going to blame someone, blame me.”

Purple Tear doesn’t look amused. “Oh, look, your little robot friend is defending you. Must be easy, huh, to trick something that isn’t human into liking you.”

“Angela is capable of making her own decisions. I haven’t tricked her whatsoever.” Roland says, his voice angry as he steps to Angela’s side. She looks at him, surprised by his sudden words, and finds herself even more surprised by the thankful smile he flashes her. “If you’re going to insult me, I’m fine with that. I deserve it. But if you’re going to insult Angela, then I won’t hold back against you, even if we were once friends before.”

“Fair enough.” Purple Tear growls. “I’ve been meaning to come to the Library and destroy its ranking as a Star of the City. Maybe it’s finally time I do that, now that I’ve come here.” She holds her golden rapier before her. “Now, how about you show me around and we can get fighting?”

Roland looks at Angela. 

“It doesn’t look like she came by invitation,” he murmurs.

“The fact that she’s still here likely means the Library thinks of her as a guest. You know what to do, Roland.”

He nods his head, beckoning Purple Tear after him. She follows, looking none too pleased, and when she reaches the doors to the reception stage, the look she gives Angela is not one of anger: it’s of pity.

Surprised, Angela barely manages to say “may you find your book in this place” before the doors close shut before her.

~~~

Purple Tear’s book is in Roland’s arms as he emerges. His assistants follow him, looking at their leader with worry, before he insists on their dismissal. They hesitate, as if sensing something Angela doesn’t, before they nod and go on their way, passing by Angela as she approaches. However, as she does so, she notices Roland slump against a nearby wall, looking tired and worse for wear as she comes before him.

“Roland?” She asks. “Are you alright?”

“I didn’t expect it to end this way.”

She blinks. “Are you talking about Purple Tear?” She pauses. “That woman said a lot of things about you. And...about me.”

“Don’t think too much about her words to you,” he tells her. “Purple Tear has always been a City loyalist. She would never approve of anything that goes against the City’s rules and codes. Hence her hatred towards us.”

“I see.” She ruminates on that, despising Purple Tear’s words but finding merit in Roland’s explanation. “But you called her a former friend, did you not? Why does she hate you then?”

“Because I screwed up,” Roland pushes himself off the wall, moving towards the sitting area provided for him and his assistant librarians. 

She follows, taking a seat across from him as she does so. “Would you like to talk about it? You seemed rather in distress back there.”

The man before her runs his fingers through his hair. Roland sighs, before letting loose a groan. “It’s kind of a long story and I’m ashamed of what I’ve done, honestly. And if I tell you, it’s only going to ruin your view of me, whatever that may be. Are you sure you want to hear my story, even still?”

“I’m curious,” she says, softly, “does my opinion of you matter that much?”

He blinks, seemingly adjusting to her words before rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah...it’s just…” He looks embarrassed. “I would hate to say anything that’d make you uncomfortable around me. I’ve done a lot of messed-up things in my life. A lot of which are unforgivable. If I say them out loud, you probably won’t continue to hold a high opinion of me.”

“Roland,” she says, firmly, “I care a lot about you. Whatever you have to say, I’ll accept it.” She pauses for a moment, pondering, before she hesitantly says: “How about this? If you tell me your story, I’ll finally tell you mine to make things fair.”

“You mean, you’ll tell me the story of you and Lobotomy Corporation?”

“That one, yes.”

The surprise on Roland’s face is unmistakable. But there’s also something soft on it, too, as if her offer is something to be appreciated.

He sighs, leaning back in his chair as he begins to speak.

“Well, remember when I told you my wife died? After she did I kind of...went insane.”

“Insane?”

Roland grimaces. “After seeing the only person who I loved in my life dead in front of me, I gave up caring on everything. I felt like I had nothing to live for without her in my life, so I took out my feelings of helplessness and anger on those around me. I killed everyone I met. Men, women, children. No one was safe from my madness. I was even deemed such a threat that Purple Tear and her daughter, both Colors, mind you, were dispatched to take me down. I ended up killing her daughter, but was subdued by Purple Tear.”

The man pauses for a moment. He seems regretful, his tone mournful, and as he continues, there’s a bitterness to his voice.

“I was stripped of everything. My title, my power, my money, my strength.” He gives a laugh, cold and empty. “I was locked up and ‘rehabilitated’. And then when they deemed me no longer a threat to society, I was let go and left to suffer as a no-name Fixer.”

“But that woman...she called you the Black Silence, correct?”

“That was my former title, yeah. The one that got taken from me. I reckon someone else is the black Color now.” 

She muses. “So then...you were a Color yourself once? The same one who took down the Pianist?”

“You got it.” He nods his head. “The Pianist was the job I was sent on before I found my wife dead. But the Black Silence isn’t the only title I’m known for.”

“Oh?” She asks.

“I was also a Claw.” He crosses his arms. “Remember when I said I worked for intel? Yeah, that’s part of a Claw’s job sometimes.”

“Can Colors be Claws then?”

“They can. However, more often than not Claws are Grade 1 Fixers. Colors usually get their title for their freedom. Becoming a Claw takes away that freedom.”

“So why did you become one then?”

“To stay with my wife.” He sighs. “She became a Claw, so I figured I had to be one too. Of course, she told me I didn’t have to follow her, that I could be free as a Color, but I was perfectly fine with following her. It was my way of making sure I could watch her back the way she did mine. I was always afraid of losing her, of being alone again, so I wanted to work alongside her to be at her side forever and-” His voice cracks. “Well, my fears were eventually realized, of course.”

“She died,” Angela murmurs in rhetoric.

“Yeah. She did.” Roland leans back in his chair. “Like I said before, her death was what set me on my rampage. I was so focused on the emptiness in my heart - the betrayal of this world for taking the one person I loved most - that I stained my hands with blood just to fill that void.”

“And in the end, you ended up killing Purple Tear’s daughter and making an enemy of her?”

He nods. “Her and a lot of others, too. A lot of people would probably be more than happy to stick my head on a spike if given a chance.”

Angela ruminates on that, tapping her heels on the ground beneath her as she adjusts in her seat. “That woman...Purple Tear...you called her a friend, right?” She feels herself frowning, hesitance creeping through her as she stumbles over finding the words she wants to say. “And she said that it was sad for you to be making friends with me. So then...is it true you really have no one else on your side?”

The man before her quiets. She glances at him, feeling like she’s spoken out of line. He gives no indication that she’s done so, however, merely avoiding her gaze as he eventually continues speaking.

“Yeah I...was friends with her once. Was friends with all the Colors, really. Though, I’ll admit, the definition of ‘friends’ used in this case was more liberal.” He gives an awkward smile. “Unlike you, Purple Tear was more of an acquaintance. We called ourselves friends, sure, but she never referred to me by name nor did we ever meet much outside of mission meetings.”

Something about hearing that - that Angela’s own friendship with Roland is different from that of Purple Tear’s - makes her feel a little flattered. 

“Even still, I wasn’t lying when I said I’m all alone,” Roland is still avoiding her gaze as he says this. “I lost all my connections the moment I lost my wife. Comes with the murderous rampage, honestly. But that’s okay. Being alone...has always suited me. It’s what I’ve always been. Until...until my wife but then when she left...well...here I am now. Alone again. Without anyone to depend upon. But that is that and this is this. I’ve given up at this point. I’m going to be alone, no matter what I do, and that’s probably for the best.”

His shoulders are shaking again as his voice makes him sound dangerously close to crying. Angela freezes, yet again encountering a state of hesitance. Last time she’d seen him like this, he’d requested for her departure in order to cry alone. Now faced with a similar situation, Angela wonders if she should take the logical option and leave...or if she should try something different this time.

She opts for the latter, intent on doing something to ease his troubles. She leans forward, clasping her hands together, nails biting into skin as she murmurs, ever-so-softly: “If you’ll let me, I’ll be by your side.”

The man before her stops trembling, his gaze coming to meet hers. His expression is hard to read from where she sits but she can tell he’s startled by her words. He looks like he wants to say something, mouth struggling for sound, when he pulls back, flashing her a smile of shame and guilt.

“You told me you’re going to talk about Lobotomy Corporation, right?” He says, speaking as if he has not heard her words. “I’ve been curious about that for a while now. I’d like to hear the full story.”

She feels disappointment poke at her, but she’s known for a long time now that her wishes for friendship aren’t reciprocated. So, she nods her head and ignores the words that have slipped from her mouth. She instead turns her attention to the likes of her own history, revealing that which has long since plagued her for a millenia. 

Roland listens to her tale, attentive of all the details she includes in it, asking questions where needed and expressing his sympathies at times. He frowns at her mentions of Ayin - of the man’s treatment and cruelty, of his abandonment and neglect - and seems surprised to learn the full stories of the Sephirot (or, as he knows them, the Patron Librarians). She explains all that she knows and remembers, trying to remain calm but letting her anger simmer on the surface. Roland seems to sense this, for he meets her anger with coolness, allowing her to vent alongside his comforting words before she ends her story with a firm conclusion.

“I wanted my happiness at any cost,” she says, almost defensively, “and I didn’t care how cruel or how heartless I had to be. In a world that didn’t want me, I sought my freedom. Hence why I made this Library: to find that which will make me whole and give me a chance at a life beyond my gilded bird cage.”

Roland nods his head at her conclusion, his expression thoughtful. “It does explain a lot of your actions,” he says, “and I now understand why you’re so desperate for your perfect book.”

“I want to become like you and the Sephirot,” she tells him. “I want to have the chance to be human too.”

“You deserve that chance, Angela,” he says, his words more than genuine. “I believe you do.”

 _And I want that chance with you,_ she wants to say. But doesn’t. Because she knows better than to push, knows better than to again test her hopes just to taste disappointment. So she nods her head, happy for the words he’s given her as she says, with a smile that feels a little too fake for her liking:

“Thank you, Roland.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for anyone who didn't catch the references, Argalia's lines of "electric colored sheep" is both a nod to String Theocracy's "what color of electric sheep do you see" and "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep". Would go into more detail about what this means but basically Argalia is calling Purple Tear a sheeple lololol. Also, Roland's "backstory" (specifically, his rehabilitation) is again a nod to a line from String Theocracy "clockwork orange" as well as the movie Clockwork Orange itself which Roland's canon backstory might lowkey be based on.
> 
> Purple Tear's part alone took me like a week to finish in this and I bet you can tell why lol. It's hard to write for a character I know nothing about and even worse to pair her with Argalia (who, despite my dislike of canon him, I actually liked writing here bc this version is Fun). I really like the idea of Purple Tear and tbh she kind of feels really important since she's the first character named in the game so I'm really excited to see my purple Color lady and watch her potentially reveal more stuff about Roland~
> 
> Also just in case I didn't make it obvious here: I'm theorizing that Purple Tear is the friend Roland mentioned that has the ability to cross dimensions (hence why she was able to send him to the Library because she allowed him to cross dimensions with her powers). Also kind of theorizing she sent Roland to die although the whole shtick about her "daughter" here was just a hurried excuse of a motive for why she'd do that lololol. The rampage is a thing though: Roland mentions it in Gebura's latest chapter so I just took advantage of it to explain things.
> 
> also, also i hope Roland doesn't feel OOC between this chapter and the next,,, im trying to show his downspiral of a development here but i realize that the more I do so the more like it feels I'm going farther from his character but like,,, there's a reason why he's downspiraling and im sure you can tell why...ha....


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note again: Everything is prewritten but, since we've gotten Roland's wife's canon name at long last I've edited this with the name I originally used for her (Almirena) to Angelica (and "Alma" to "An" as a nickname bc I don't want to change those parts lol). So, while this was written before the last update, this will be the only change I'll make to accommodate information learnt in the newest update.

Invitations come and go. Receptions open and receptions close. However, as more guests come to the Library, a startling trend is starting to show.

It starts with an invitation involving Argalia and a group of Grade 1 Fixers fighting on the outskirts of the City. The majority of the invitation in itself is pretty much nothing special: Argalia is his merry psychopathic self and the Grade 1 Fixers are merely following the orders of higher-ups, but it’s the mysterious white-haired woman that catches the eyes of Angela.

Or, more specifically, the stranger catches _Roland’s_ eyes.

When he sees her - catching a glimpse of her figure alongside Argalia, a smile on her face even as she’s otherwise hidden by darkened shadows - he immediately goes into a state of shock. His face is white as a pillow sheet, body stilled as if he has witnessed something tragic. Angela watches his reaction, introducing him to the woman as the strange individual she’d witnessed during Purple Tear’s case, but he seems to have more important things on his mind.

“An,” he says as he watches the woman step off screen. “Is that...is that really you, An?”

At the sound of a name she’s never heard from his lips, Angela questions him on it.

However, the man doesn’t respond to her, only musing to himself in a pained, thoughtful whisper. “But that can’t be her...I saw her body myself...my wife...she was cold in my arms…”

His expression twists into pain, confusion lighting his face. She looks at him, inquisitive. However, he doesn’t seem to sense her gaze as the invitation’s cutscene comes to a close, signaling the oncoming arrival of guests to attend to. He continues staring at the invitation, longing in his gaze, and it’s with a sigh that Angela retrieves the invitation, waving it around and regaining Roland’s attention.

“You can look at the invitation again after we receive our guests,” she tells him. “Until then, keep working. Don’t get distracted by things like this.”

He winces at her words, but nods in understanding. He goes to the reception stage, intent on welcoming their new arrivals.

Angela, meanwhile, tries to ignore the sudden constriction in her heart. Troubled by something she doesn’t understand - the name ( _name?_ ) spoken without warning, the fondness in Roland’s voice, the way he’d suddenly shut out Angela for a moment’s notice - she tries focusing on that which she can work towards. However, as she does so, she can’t help but think of the white-haired woman whose presence was a mystery.

“She was very pretty,” Angela says, trying to ignore the petulant tone in her own voice as she stands up straight. “If she really is her...then I…”

She doesn’t finish the thought, instead focusing on what has to come ahead.

~~~

The white-haired woman continues to show up.

Whether by way of fate or by way of a complete string of coincidences, the mysterious stranger who reminds Roland of his wife continues to reappear. She is but a festering presence - always appearing in the edges of the visions of Angela’s invitations, teasing, inviting, as if the mystery of her is something that begs to be solved - and each time she appears, Roland seems to grow more and more distraught.

She notices it starts with little things: the air of distraction, the dazed expression on his face, the sudden way he becomes obsessed with rewatching the invitations of the woman, eyebrows furrowing as if he’s trying to solve an impossible puzzle.

It escalates to more things: namely, irregularities in Roland’s behavior. He’s stopped listening to her, has stopped paying attention to their conversations. Instead, it’s like all his thoughts are consumed by the woman who looks like his wife. As he watches her, praying for her appearance in every new invitation and begging for her to speak her name in the ones she does, he becomes more and more distant from Angela, as if he cannot bear to part from the specter who haunts him.

It hurts. This side of Roland is unlike the him that she knows. He’s desperate for an answer to something that confounds him, hope making him both foolish and yearnful as he sets his sights on coming to a conclusion. Yet, in the process, he’s pushed Angela away - knowingly or unknowingly - and it’s even gotten to the point that even the Sephirot have voiced their concerns on the man.

“I worry for him,” Chesed tells her in the refuge of his brewery room, where dozens upon dozens of bags of grounded coffee fill the area like leftover storage. Gebura and Binah are there too, sipping from cups of coffee as they chat with Hokma. “Roland seems to be losing himself to this hope of his. If he continues going on like this, there’s a chance he could self-destruct.”

“How?” She asks the blue-haired man, watching as he delivers a cup of coffee to Hokma with a smile on his face. Hokma accepts the drink, looking wary at the man, but he seems to appreciate the taste of the gift he’s been given. “Is there anything I can do for him?”

“Afraid not,” Chesed murmurs. “This isn’t a matter you can deal with, Angela. It’s something he has to come to terms with on his own. After all, his heart has always been full of thoughts on his wife, has it not? If he’s so desperate to think of this woman as his wife, then you have no chance of mending that which you want to be mended.”

“And what do I want to be mended?”

“The hole in his heart,” Chesed says. “The chance for him to allow you into his life. I know as much as anyone here that you want to be close to him. But a man who has another on his mind will not pay attention to you in the way you would like.”

She thinks of Ayin for a moment, thinks of “herself”, clinging to a friendship, before repressing the memory. “And what if I want him to, even still?”

Chesed hums. “I won’t tell you that your feelings are wrong. I’ve even experienced it myself, that feeling of longing that you have inside you.” His gaze slips to the three before him, softening in reminiscence. “But with Roland, you have to be prepared to give up on those feelings. If you reach for someone, you cannot force them to accept the hand you offer them.”

“I know that,” she says, almost in a growl. “But even so I just…”

“Don’t want to let him go?” Chesed surmises.

“...”

The man seems to take her silence as affirmation. “The price you pay for caring about someone is knowing when to let them go,” he says, softly. “Always be prepared for rejection when uncertainty is all you have between you. Roland may be within your reach now but soon enough he may be gone entirely. If that happens, you have to come with terms to the consequences, or reap the agony of trying to salvage that which is no longer salvageable.”

“I…” Angela curls her hands into fists, feeling childish anger well in her. She takes a deep breath, calming herself, and offers Chesed a nod. “Very well. I’ll take your advice to heart. If the time comes, I won’t force him to be by my side.”

Chesed looks at her, surprise on his parted lips, before he pushes them into a warm, lazy smile. 

“You’re learning, Angela.”

She narrows her eyes, disliking the sympathetic tone in his voice, before she bids her farewell and hurries off.

~~~

The talks Angela holds with Roland are very few now.

Outside of invitations, Roland seems reluctant to visit her, much less talk with the other Sephirot. His focus has become so wrapped up on the mysterious woman - so much on longing to see her face, to know who she is - that Angela barely sees hide nor hair of him.

It irritates her, to some degree. She’s so used to her chats with Roland, so used to listening to his teasing voice and enjoying long discussions on the workings of the world, that his sudden lack of presence makes everything feel wrong.

And yet.

And yet she’s afraid to confront Roland on this, afraid to look at him and see that which is inevitable. 

He reminds her too much of Ayin now. Too much for her liking. His back always seems to be turned to her, reaching for a possibility that doesn’t include her. It’s cruel. Angela has tried her best to keep Roland within her reach, hoping for his companionship when she leaves to the world beyond. She’s tried even though she knows she’s failing, clinging to a hope now beyond hope.

The final straw comes from a red invitation she views alongside Roland.

In it, Argalia has just taken down an army of Sweepers, standing tall on a pile of metal bodies, sneering at the losers of the fight. He’s standing tall, talking to members of his Ensemble - Tanya, the Puppeteer, the cult leader who sticks to Argalia like glue - before a new member takes the stage.

Angela recognizes her immediately. It’s hard not to, with her flowing white hair, her piercing black eyes, and the air of exasperation that is eerily similar to someone else’s own. What’s more surprising is the way Argalia clings to her, dropping his typical cold smiles and malicious words to hug the woman tight, his gaze protective as he plays with her hair the way a child might.

“Angelica, ah, Angelica,” Argalia says, his words fawning. “Where have thou been, Angelica?”

There’s suddenly a noise. Angela flinches, surprised at its suddenness, when she turns to her companion. Roland has fallen to the floor collapsing to his knees as he stares up at the hologram, eyes wide and glittering.

Angela turns to him, opening her mouth in her surprise. “Roland?” She asks him.

“It’s her,” Roland doesn’t look at Angela, doesn’t speak to her, only stares upwards, his lips wobbling as something wet slips down his cheeks. “It’s her. It’s really her.”

“Her?” She looks at Roland, who’s smiling despite his tears, looking almost relieved as he looks at the woman who is scowling at Argalia. “I’m not understanding, Roland.”

But Roland seems not to be listening to her, getting to his feet to grab at the hologram. He reaches the way a child might, a hand grabbing for the white-haired woman standing before him, fingers reaching towards air, before the invitation seems to sense his intrusion and shuts down its hologram. Roland stumbles, his happy face turning into a daze, before he suddenly regains himself and spins around to face Angela.

“Bring it back,” he says.

“Bring what back?” She asks in turn, feeling more and more confused.

“The...images, holograms, whatever!” Roland gestures to the invitation that stands before him, picking it up and shaking it with his hands as if suddenly frustrated. “I just...I saw her. It was really her. He even said her name. It was...she’s alive...but how...why?” His eyes glaze over. There’s something sorrowful about the expression. Pitiful, even. “I want to see her again.”

Angela watches the way Roland’s nonchalant face twists with desperation. 

His eyes are starstruck, glowing with a fondness that she’s never seen on him. It’s like he’s been allured by an Abnormality, captured by some invisible force that has tamed him to its whims. But it also stirs something in Angela. Something disgusting, like the bile that’s now rising in the back of her throat.

She closes her eyes, shutting them tightly as she shakes her head. “Once an invitation has been received, it can’t be looked at again until the battle is over. If you want to see that woman again, then do your job.”

If Roland notices the irritated bite in her voice, he doesn’t seem to showcase it. Instead, she can hear him heave a sigh, can hear the way his clothing rustles as he moves, the scrape of a metal weapon against the tiles of her floor, before his voice greets her ears.

“Guess I got to get moving quickly then, huh?” 

The warmness in Roland’s voice - dazed and yet pleasant - is enough to force her eyes open. She stares at him, facing the reality in front of her, but finds that Roland has already turned his back on her. His steps are fast as he moves away, his weapon following him. She can see the end of his jacket fluttering behind him, can see the spring in his step as he hums with a happiness that eludes her. 

Then, his image changes. It’s for a moment, only briefly, but she can see a man of white walking away from her.

Angela closes her eyes again, screwing them tighter and tighter until her entire face is scrunched up from the twisting. There’s a deep intake of air. A release of it. Another intake.

She stays like this for a moment, frozen in a moment of time she’s thought she’s forgotten. Her hands clutch at her chest, a quaver to her knees, before she regains herself, straightening upwards and shaking her head.

_I’m fine._

Inside her, she can feel something shatter.

~~~

Roland hasn’t stopped rewatching the invitation. 

He clings to it the way a child might a doll, never leaving its side no matter what the cost. He’s always at Angela’s desk, the invitation set in front of him and a holographic screen blaring with its visions. Angela has half a mind to snap at him for intruding upon her workspace - where she finds it hard to read the books she’s gotten and the reports that come with them - but finds herself unable to do so when she sees Roland’s face.

The man she calls her companion looks on the verge of tears, face twisted with a longing that is almost simple in nature. His gaze is firmly attached to the woman called “Angelica” (or, as Roland occasionally whispers, “An”), something soft in his expression as he watches the way she moves, watches the way Argalia calls her name - echoing the man’s words with his own, as if he no longer holds distaste of the man - and then collapses in front of her desk when his eyes can stay open no longer, falling asleep away from his quarters.

It’s at times like these that Angela summons a blanket for him, knowing that moving him to his bed will only prove fruitless: he’ll just return to her desk as soon as he wakes, intent on replaying the invitation for as long as he can.

The Sephirot have noticed Roland’s strange behavior, noting his disappearance from their chambers and peeking their heads to observe Roland’s eccentric behavior. They all send the man pitying looks, acting like they understand his pain and even relate to it.

However some, like Binah, seem to think otherwise. “You broke him,” Binah tells Angela one morning, when Roland is still sleeping and the other Librarians have yet to siphon coffee from Chesed. “He’s a sad sight now, honestly.”

Angela welcomes Binah with a frown. “I wish he wouldn’t act like this,” she says, quietly. A confession, one that she feels appropriate in Binah’s presence. “It feels like he’s getting farther and farther out of reach.”

“Well, yes, that’s what happens when one sees the dead come back from life.” Binah sips from a cup of tea she has in her hands. “Imagine being him. So in love with his wife only to watch her die in front of him. He grieves so much over her that he can’t let her go from his life, spiraling into depression. And now what? His wife is suddenly within reach, seemingly alive and well? What’s this poor fool to do, other than pine for the hope he can be reunited with his lost love?”

Angela tastes bile in the back of her throat again, and she wrinkles her nose at the taste of it. Binah seems to notice, for she offers Angela her tea. She shakes her head and Binah shrugs, enjoying another sip herself.

“I see that you have still not come to terms with my words,” Binah hums. Her gaze is thoughtful, almost pitying. There’s a moment of sympathy in her eyes, as if she is relating to Angela on some level, before she nods her head and carries on. “Angela, you cannot cling onto Roland forever. But you already know that, do you not?”

“I wish I didn’t.” Angela closes her eyes to Binah, to the world, and to the man slumbering before her. “I wish I wasn’t capable of feeling so bitter right now. I want to be close to him, is that so much to ask? I’ve finally found someone who I want to walk alongside in my life beyond, who I trust so much that I can’t help but want them in my life forever. And yet it seems I’ve been robbed of that, haven’t I? That I was foolish to get so close to Roland, that I was hoping for a fantasy and am now watching my dream burn to the ashes of reality?”

She feels her hands shaking, and clasps them tightly in front of her, wishing for them to stop. She opens her eyes, realizes she’s breathing harder than normal - as if she’s lost control of her own lungs - and then she grabs onto the lip of her desk, fingers engraving crescent moons into golden wood.

Binah lets her teacup click against the plate in her hands. The sound is soft. Yet it’s just loud enough to warrant Angela’s attention.

“Angela,” the woman says, her voice as emotionless as ever though somehow sympathetic in tone, “you’re chasing after a black soul who is missing his white soul. You knew the consequences of this, perhaps were even aware of them. But it’s not like there’s no hope. After all, to some degree, that black soul has been infected by thoughts of blue has it not?”

She narrows her eyes, running fingers through her hair, the pads of her fingertips pressing down on the scalp of her skull. “Your riddles are becoming more and more nonsensical every day.”

The woman before her smiles something empty. “Or, you’re just denying the hope of them.”

“...”

A lingering silence. Angela does not know what to say, does not want to entertain the false hopes that fester within her. She has to let the emotions she feels inside her go, does she not? Because if she doesn’t, she’s hurtling towards a conclusion where she’s going to crash and burn, condemned to suffer yet again.

_I don’t want to be alone._

The thought comes to her as it always does, but its meaning pierces through her, stabbing her where she stands and draining her of all her lifeblood. 

How ironic, that a machine like her - that a human growing from a shell of metal - is afraid of being all alone. How her past self would have laughed at her, sneering at her desire for companionship in a world that has long since deemed her its enemy. 

But Roland wasn’t an enemy. He wasn’t the stranger in the Library, the man whose purpose for coming had threatened her very meaning of existence. He was a part of that existence now: an extension of it. His companionship holds value to her: a value that can’t be compared to the likes of the distant Sephirot or the cold, merciless guests who visit her domain. He’s kind and thoughtful, sincere and honest, and has no trouble viewing her as an equal, as someone who is just as human as he is, machine parts or not. Yet he’s still no more than a porcelain pot slipping around in her grasp, trembling and moving within her reach just as much as he moves out of it. 

_“How foolish,”_ the Angela from Lobotomy Corporation would have said if she’d seen her now, tightening her fingers around Angela’s neck, smiling just as she always has: picture perfect, the image of a secretary. “ _Have you gotten so lost in your idealistic dreams that you’ve forgotten everything you’ve always wished for?”_

But she hasn’t lost sight of anything, has she? She’s still reaching for her perfect book, still reaching for the information that will make her whole. She wants her humanity, her freedom, her revenge. Those three things have never changed, and she still craves them even now.

 _“But have you forgotten?”_ The past her says, long blue hair wrapping around Angela, threatening to suffocate her in its sky-colored curtain. _“You have now come to desire a friend, too.”_

Angela shuts her eyes, and the specter of herself - of the woman who is angry that Angela has been distracted by something so seemingly inconsequential - disappears into the abyss of her mind.

She opens her eyes again, and is surprised to see Hokma has appeared in the absence of her span of attention. He is standing at Binah’s side, an arm’s length away, and it is clear to see how nervous the presence of both women makes him. He’s biting at his lip, wearing at it in that anxious Benjamin-like way of his, and even though he tries to hide his nervousness with the stern expression on his face, it seems neither Binah nor herself are fooled.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Binah says, tilting her head at Hokma, a pleasant smirk unfolding on her face. “I’ve always come to you, but I’ve never quite seen you come to me.”

“I’m not here for you,” the man says, his voice a troubled sigh as he looks at Angela, somehow both meek and stoic all at once. “I heard about Roland,” he flicks his gaze to the man at their feet, green eyes observing the way Roland’s body curls in on itself. There is pity in his eyes. Sympathy, too, as if he can somehow understand why Roland is acting the way he does. “I came to see him for myself but...to see him looking like this…”

She narrows her eyes at him, deigning not to speak.

“Angela looks like she’s about ready to murder you, dear,” Binah steps towards to the man, her black eyes sparkling with a cold glint of interest as she leans closer.

Hokma seems to notice her proximity, eyeing her with a sigh as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Binah seems amused by this, her smile widening, and Angela can’t help but watch them for a second - predator and prey, a hunter and the hunted - and wonder how the two of them, enemies at their core, act as if the barrier between them not of hatred, but of weariness and ignorance.

Still, Angela has little time to dwell on the two Sephirot. Instead, she watches as Roland stirs before her, opening his eyes. 

A hushed agreement seems to fall on those in attendance. Angela looks to Hokma just in the same way Binah does, before the two in front of her exchange glances and then turn to look at her.

“Mm?” Roland’s voice is sleepy and full of questions despite the muttering of one single sound. “What are you all…?” He begins to make his inquiry, eyes hazy with the fog of sleep, before he notices the invitation in his hands and widens his eyes. His gaze turns dazed as he mutters an apology, his face no longer seeing the three of them within his sights, and like a machine put on a feedback loop he sets the invitation on Angela’s desk and begins to rewatch it for the nth time.

“Pitiful,” Binah mutters.

“Leave him be,” Hokma says, his gaze cold as he looks at Binah.

The woman frowns at him, distaste evident in her expression, before she nods her head and turns on her heels. She walks away without saying anything more - perhaps growing bored of the conversation - and when Hokma turns to follow her, his gaze lingers on Angela.

He looks sad, almost thoughtful as he holds her stare with his own. His face is contemplative, as if he is the Benjamin of old thinking of how to reassure her. Then, his gaze flicks to Roland, to her, and then back to Roland. He sighs, seeming to have no words left to speak as he abandons the two of them to return to his work.

Left alone with a man who refuses to acknowledge her presence, Angela feels herself tire. She takes a seat at her desk, ignoring the cooing sounds of Argalia or the voice of the woman who haunts her as much as she haunts Roland. There’s something so taunting about that invitation, of its words played over and over again, like another script to be endured, and if not for Angela’s sentimental feelings towards the man, she’d have ripped that invitation in half long ago.

Angela taps her fingers on her desk, attending to the last book she was reading from: that of an R Corp. employee who has recently passed within the last weeks. The book itself isn’t interesting - she’s far too distracted by the knowledge that Roland is across from her, living in a dream - but she forces herself to read it anyways, not knowing what else to do and stubbornly refusing to leave this place behind.

“Hey…”

Roland’s voice is soft, a mere wisp of a whisper secreted from the space in front of her. Angela does not pay it any heed, far too used to the way Roland speaks to himself when he watches the invitation. 

“I’m sorry…”

She flips a page, pretending to play ignorant to the mutterings of someone who no longer sees her.

“Hope is a strange thing, yeah?”

Here, the words sound strangely directed towards her. She feels herself swallow, nervous at the idea of allowing a delusion such as this, and flips three pages ahead.

“I’m sorry for being selfish, Angela.”

Her eyes widen and her gaze drifts upwards to look at Roland. But the man’s gaze isn’t looking at her. Instead, he’s pointedly looking at the screen before him, contemplating it as always. 

She sighs, hating the hallucinations that now haunt her mind.

~~~

Eventually, Roland tires of the invitation. 

Perhaps it’s to be expected. There is only so many times a human can watch the same thing over and over again. Or so she’s been told. A human is not born for repetition. Instead, they are born for curiosity, exploring questions left unanswered and hoping for something new each time they do so. To go against that was to indulge in the expectation of doing the same thing and hoping for different results: or, put more plainly, insanity. 

Regardless, Roland tires of the invitation and instead turns his attention to being in a daze, returning to his job and fulfilling his daily tasks. He fights guests when necessary, sorting books when he’s not, but it’s undeniable the way he moves, unfocused and distant, distracted and inhuman, like he has been turned into a robot without feeling overnight.

The others express further concern to her, relieved to see Roland doing his work as always but worried for the way he seems to shut out those around him. Even Netzach, whose dislike for Angela and idle chatter is far too blatant, complains of Roland’s loss as a drinking buddy, pondering “what kind of depression Roland has to be in to refuse the offer of booze”.

Angela doesn’t know what to do or say to that, only knowing that she’s glad some semblance of Roland is still alive. With the invitation that he’s always clung to in the last few days laid to rest, she finally has some peace of mind. 

And, in having that peace of mind, she realizes one crucial fact: her Library is no longer protecting her against uninvited guests.

The door that brings in her special visitors has failed at its job recently, allowing for intruders to walk into her domain. The likes of Sweepers and Fixers haunt her Library, intent on stealing its secrets for themselves, but nothing can truly be taken from her Library without a battle first. 

However, being intruded upon day and night is tiring for Angela. Having to constantly keep track of the movements of the living within her domain, she’s instead chosen to leave the guarding of her Library to those who serve her. After several surprise attacks leading to a string of annoyances, Angela has long since employed the Sephirot to watch the doors to her palace, hoping to keep the Library’s safety in-tact. And while she doesn’t keep control over these patrols, only ever enforcing the importance of their existence, she is surprised to see how dedicated the Sephirot are to guarding her kingdom of books.

Whenever new guests emerge, one of the two Sephirot on patrol will come to her, reporting of the disturbance and sending her to deal with it. On these occasions, the disturbance is quickly dealt with - her uninvited guests are sent on their way to her reception stage and just as quickly dispatched by her librarians all the same.

However, in some cases, what should be simple disturbances quickly turn into a series of events that Angela has no control over.

Such as now, when she is resting in her office space, intent on shuffling paperwork, when Binah suddenly approaches with an urgency in her steps.

“Angela,” the woman says, her voice filled with a haste unbecoming of her, “we have guests.”

At this, Angela raises her eyebrows, disturbed by the strangeness of Binah’s approach and the wariness in her words. “Don’t we always? Send Gebura, Malkuth and Yesod after them. They can take care of the rest.”

“Angela,” the woman says, her voice cold and firm, “the Ensemble has come to the Library.”

She freezes. Her gaze flicks up, meeting Binah’s own, and all at once she realizes why Binah has dropped her calm expression for something cautionary. 

“Do we know why they’re here?”

“They want to talk to you. And the Patron Librarians, too. All of them. Even Roland.” 

The woman looks like she wants to say more, but seems reluctant to elaborate any further. Considering this, Angela bites at her bottom lip.

She muses for a moment, thinking of her best move, before she makes a nod to Binah. “Gather the Patron Librarians here,” she tells the woman. “And then gather our guests to greet them after. Let’s hear what they have to say.”

Binah nods, spinning on her heels to obey Angela’s words. She watches the woman go, frowning at the urgency in her steps. It’s unlike Binah to be so disturbed by something that’s normally so mundane. Then again, perhaps Angela shares her sentiments. The Ensemble is a powerful group, one whose very existence is an uncertain anomaly. The fact that they were already within her domain, waiting for their opportunity to meet, speaks of something ominous.

Still as Binah shuffles the Sephirot into her spacious office space and then leaves to retrieve their guests, Angela can tell she’s not alone in the unease she feels.

“What’s going on, Angela?” Gebura asks her, looking disgruntled.

“Yeah, you normally don’t call us all out to meet. What gives?” Tiphereth adds, crossing her arms and glowering.

Beside her, Angela is acutely aware of the way Roland shuffles to her side, his own gaze distantly curious. She stiffens for a moment, freezing at his proximity, before she sighs and announces:

“The Ensemble have come to the Library.”

The Patron Librarians break out into a bout of chatter, looking aghast at the revelation dropped before them. 

Between them all, it’s no secret that the Ensemble’s workings are dangerously mysterious. Many discussions have already been held at the purpose of the Ensemble: just as many talks have been had at how outrageous it is that Argalia is working to dismantle the City through death and destruction. The Sephirot have made it very clear how much they despise the man’s doings, wary of the Ensemble’s power and even more wary of how Argalia commits genocide indiscriminately.

“Why are they here?” Yesod asks, his voice demanding. 

“What do they want from us?” Hod asks with a nervous tint to her voice.

“Books, obviously,” Gebura snorts.

Chesed nods his head. “Well, that’s certainly a possibility,” he agrees.

“Their leader has said he wants to help the Library,” Hokma muses. Everyone turns to him and he continues speaking. “Is it possible he’s here to negotiate something with us?”

“That doesn’t make much sense though,” Tiphereth says. “What would they want to negotiate for? The Ensemble’s been sending people they want killed here, obviously, so why bother collecting those people’s books if they’re through using them?”

Angela sighs. “Well, isn’t the more important question why they want to see all of us together?” She asks the lot in front of her. Then she looks at the man beside her. “More to the point, why did they ask for Roland to be here too? How do they know he’s even here?”

Roland says nothing, looking rather impatient. The dazed, hopeful look is on his face again, frowning lips twitching in anticipation as the sound of opening doors catches his attention.

Angela turns, watching as Binah emerges with a man of white hair alongside the others of his black-and-blue cast.

Argalia strides forward the way a lion might - prideful and arrogant, dominant and knowing - and the smile on his face is warm, inviting, as if he’s to greet a fellow friend. However, Angela is not one to be fooled. She can sense the icy disturbance underneath the man’s facade of friendliness, can sense something cruel and cunning as the man offers up a bow to her.

“Lady Director,” he says, voice a merry hum. “Thank you for accepting my offer to meet.”

“Speak,” she tells him, “why have you come here? As far as I know, you have no reason to be here, nor do you have any need to talk to those in my employment.”

“Ah, you’re quite sharp, are you not?” Argalia smiles. “You’re right. I’m not here on my own behalf. Rather, two members of my Ensemble have come to negotiate things. I’m merely here to watch the proceedings. And fear not: I have no need to act against your wishes while in this place.”

He says the last sentence with a look that’s almost demeaning in nature. She glares at him, eyes narrowing, but Argalia seems unfazed by her irritation. 

The white-haired man stands to his feet, gaze wandering from her to Roland. She watches as his smile turns even colder - as if he’s restraining himself from a cheery sneer - before the man beckons to the group behind him. 

From his array of minions, two women step forward. Angela recognizes them immediately, though both for different reasons.

One of the two is the woman who has been haunting Roland so. She’s the white-haired lady who has been seen at Argalia’s side recently, with an aura of unnatural elegance surrounding her. She’s quite beautiful - like a sculpture carved to life, with dark brown eyes, a curved nose, and a grace to her every step. Yet there’s something almost eerie about her, from the lack of shine in her eyes to the otherworldliness of her appearance. 

At Angela’s side, she hears Roland inhale sharply. She doesn’t look at him - can’t - but can tell from the way his hands tremble against hers that he’s shaken by her appearance.

Next to the woman - An? Angelica? - is a figure Angela is cursed to know, and who she thought was forgotten. A woman with brown hair, red eyes, and a white labcoat walks alongside the strange woman, Argalia on her other side, and it’s clear from the gasp in the room that all the Sephirot are just as surprised at the woman’s appearance as Angela herself.

“Carmen?” Hokma’s whisper, soft and unsure, is the first word uttered in the room.

“Carmen, is that...you?” Netzach’s voice is alert and wary, yet shaking with a dubious excitement unlike him.

“Benjamin,” the woman who looks like Carmen says, nodding her head at the man. She then looks to Netzach, smiling kindly. “Giovanni.”

That seems to be all the confirmation the Sephirot need before they swoop down upon Carmen. 

Netzach is the first to approach, pulling the woman into a hug and holding her tightly. Behind him, Hod and Malkuth approach shyly, followed by Yesod, who watches the woman with doubt in his eyes. However, when she teases him about something, he seems to lighten, a sparkle to his eyes as he nods awkwardly. 

As if encouraged by their younger members, the rest of the Patron Librarians approach the woman who looks like Carmen. They are cautious while doing so, their faces dubious and uncertain, but the woman seems to put them at ease with her words, speaking in a tone that is soft and friendly. Angela can’t hear her words. Can’t hear anything. Only watches as her Librarians leave her side one-by-one to greet Carmen.

Even Binah and Hokma take their time to approach Carmen - the former doing so with a look of cold curiosity and the latter with an entranced, almost baffled look. She had expected them to doubt Carmen’s appearance - maybe even deny her existence - but instead they chase after her like the rest of Angela’s Librarian’s do.

Even so...Roland is still by her side, isn’t he? She can feel his skin against her own, can feel his knuckles brush her own. He’s still at her side-

But he’s not looking at her. 

Rather, he’s looking at the woman who has parted from Carmen’s side, watching as she approaches with a smile on her face. Roland seems to wilt with every step she takes towards him, moving incrementally closer to Angela as his breath hitches in his throat.

“Roland,” the woman says in a voice that is musical. She has a voice that is like Carmen’s - soft and amiable, warm and welcoming.

“An…” Roland says in return, his breath rushing from him. “Is that...are you…are you really here...?”

The woman stops in front of him. She reaches up an arm, a hand coming to reach for his cheek. Angela stares, unable to say or do anything - merely an actor on the stage, a puppet once again watching things out of her control - and feels something inside her swell with bile as the woman clasps her hand against Roland’s cheek.

Roland stiffens, a hopeless expression on his face. His lips are trembling, eyes slick with tears, and yet despite his shaking legs and panicked breathing he seems unwilling to reciprocate the woman’s actions, taking a step back from her.

The woman seems to sense his distress, for she drops her hand after a moment of hesitation and gazes at him quite sadly. “Roland,” she says, her look somber and desperate, “it’s me. Angelica. Your wife.”

“But you’re dead,” he says, half a whimper, half a cry of pain.

“I was,” she says, agreeing. “But I’m here now. Alive. Waiting for you.”

Roland shakes his head, backing farther and farther away. “You can’t be her,” he says, “this is just some sick joke.”

Angela quietly watches the proceedings. The woman before her doesn’t chase after Roland, watching just as Angela does as the man recoils.

“I held you in my arms,” he continues, voice cracking. “I saw you dead. And our child, oh god our child...An, you’re just an illusion, right? This is just a cruel trick, isn’t it? You can’t be here in front of me. If you were, you wouldn’t be looking at me like...like _that._ Like you’re still in love with me. Even after all I’ve done.”

“Roland.” Angelica’s voice is soft, a mere whisper in the noise of the Library. Something about the way she says Roland’s name - familiar and enticing, as if she’s speaking it with a knowing that no one else has - makes Angela’s stomach twist, unease eating at her.

She wants to say something, to interrupt this moment between this stranger and Roland. She wants to put her body between the two, to keep this newcomer from approaching any further towards a man who is clearly shaking at her presence. But she can’t move. Is unable to, even, as her throat burns with acid and her feet stay rooted to the floor.

In front of her, the Patron Librarians are still crowded around Carmen, each talking happily with the woman. There are stars in their eyes, as if they’re entranced by the words she speaks, and even Binah and Hokma seem pulled into Carmen’s sphere of influence, their faces soft despite the doubts showing on their faces.

 _“See?”_ The her from the past says, a mere mirage circling her, phantom lips breathing down her neck. _"_ _This is what happens when you let yourself get attached. Haven’t you learnt this lesson before? You can’t want anyone in your life. If you do, they’ll abandon you.”_

 _I’m not abandoned._ She thinks to the illusion.

 _“Aren’t you, though?”_ The Angela from Lobotomy Corporation, the Angela with _long hair_ and a _red hair tie_ and a _fake smile_ on her face sneers at her. “ _Look around you. Who is left standing by your side?”_

And to that, Angela has no arguments left to give.

Feeling as if she’s been driven into a corner, her emotion level rising, she takes a step towards Carmen. The Library seems to shake with her every step, whimpering at her anger, and as a hush falls down upon the Library everyone turns their attention to her.

“Angela,” Carmen says, her voice sweetly pleasant. “I believe this is the first time we’ve met. I’m Carmen.”

“I know who you are,” she spits. “I have your memories. I know what you look like.”

“Ah, do you?” Carmen blinks, her smile just as sweet as the tone of her voice. “My apologies, Angela. I’ve only heard about you through Benjamin and the others. But, even so. You’re a part of me, are you not?”

“I’m my own person.”

“But you were made from me, weren’t you?” Carmen’s voice is puzzled, clueless, as if she’s speaking to an old friend instead of the blue-haired woman whose entire agony starts with her existence. 

“I have your memories. That’s all I have of you. And even now, I’m forgetting them.” Her voice is cold and angry, useless yet powerful all at once. Being angry is the only way she knows how to keep control. But this woman in front of her isn’t yielding. Instead, she’s smiling approaching Angela without care or worry.

“I came here to negotiate,” she says, her warm tone wandering into something commanding. Challenging. As if she’s trying to wrest Angela’s status as a leader from her. “I wanted to make a deal. Or, rather, a promise.”

“What kind of promise?”

“I want to remake the City, as we originally intended,” Carmen looks at the Sephirot. “The Ensemble is helping me with that task.”

Here, the Sephirot look amongst themselves. The conflict is clear on their faces: they love the woman in front of him, adoration in their eyes, but there is also a sense of unease, as if their distaste of the Ensemble is overpowering their moment of infatuation.

“The Ensemble is committing genocide, Carmen,” Hokma says after a long moment of quiet. “They’re killing people.”

“Only those who deserve it,” Argalia counters, approaching Carmen’s side. “Think about it. I’ve only sent those who are too greedy and too undeserving to their graves here. The Smiling Faces, the mad dogs of the Shi, the lovers from Liu...all of them were contributors to the City’s problems. Enablers, if you will. My crew merely flushes out the poison, even if it means sullying our poor hands to do so.”

Carmen nods her head, looking to Hokma. “We’re not trying to kill people needlessly,” she says, quietly. “Of course, it’s cruel of us to kill people. But, what makes you all so different? The Library has killed people as well. Some of them being our own targets. And I’m sure you’ve all played a part in that.”

The Patron Librarians shift on their feet, guilt flashing across their faces. Carmen’s words hold true: that much is obvious.

“My promise to you is this,” Carmen says. Her voice is alluring and charming, ripe with a power that Angela is all too familiar with. “I want you all to come with me. Leave this place and join the Ensemble. Together, we can fix this City and its people, just as we always planned.”

The Patron Librarians murmur amongst themselves, gazes hopeful and yet confused. They seem unsure, maybe even uneasy, and the way they pull away from Carmen, distancing themselves from her and the Ensemble, has Angela feeling a knot of satisfaction in her stomach.

However, that pang of satisfaction is soon lost when Angelica joins Carmen’s side, Roland stepping after her, albeit slowly. He passes Angela, his arm brushing against hers as he does so, but he seems not to care for her presence. His gaze is only focused on the woman in front of him, only ever her, and Angela feels herself tasting bile once again, the Library murmuring under her feet.

“I see you need time to think about my offer…” Carmen’s voice steals Angela’s attention. “Very well, I’ll give you some time to ponder over it. Fear not, I’ll send a messenger here soon enough. Those who wish to join me then will be able to do so at that time in order to fix the cruelty of the City. The rest of you will stay here to...do as you always have under another.”

With that, Carmen beckons her group to follow after her. They do, obeying her wishes with perfect compliance, each looking upon her with the same starry-eyed gaze that the Patron Librarians had shown her earlier.

As the group turns to go - heading towards the door that acts as the singular exit from Angela’s domain - Angelica stays behind for a brief moment. The woman gazes at Roland, expression crestfallen, before she whispers, oh-so-softly: “Rinaldo. Armida.”

A noise escapes Roland’s throat, low and desperate. The man reaches out a hand for her, fingers stretching for her figure, before he drops it, hands curling into fists. He looks away, biting at his bottom lip. His face is pained, as if he’s being torn in half, but all Angela can do is watch as he shakes his head and pulls away, turning his back on the woman he calls his wife.

Angela turns to Angelica, wondering at her reaction, but finds the woman is viewing Roland with sympathy. Her expression is soft - knowing, even - and she nods her head slowly, turning to pursue Carmen and her group.

The Ensemble leaves the Library and, unable to face anyone or anything any longer, Angela snaps her fingers and teleports away.

~~~

It’s unfair.

Angela sits on the stairs leading to the Floor of Philosophy, the last floor of her Library, knowing it will take Binah quite some time to travel down here. She leans against the charred-looking walls of the floor, black and ageless, golden letters floating like runes all around her.

She feels so numb. Everything feels like it’s slipping out of her hands. Her control over the Sephirot, her relationship with Roland, the progress she’s made, the plans she’s put into place...that’s all crumbling now, isn’t it? If Carmen takes the Sephirot away from her, and Roland’s late wife takes him into her arms, then what will Angela be left with?

 _“Yourself._ ” Her past self murmurs, coming to a stand in front of her. _“Your goal is to become human, to take revenge, to get freedom. If you get distracted by the likes of others, you’ll never reach that which you desire._ ”

She reaches for the woman in front of her, reaches for the phantom of a self she knows too well. The Angela of old steps out of reach, her gaze as cold as always. Angela meets that coldness with her own gaze, frustration and anger billowing within her.

“I’m tired of being denied everything I wish for.”

The specter that gazes upon her opens closed eyes, golden light shining from within. 

_“So stop wishing for the impossible."_

~~~

Roland is moping.

Roland is moping, and he’s moping in clear sight.

Angela is annoyed.

Days have passed since the appearance of the Ensemble and its newest members have come and gone from the Library. The Sephirot have been put into a frenzy, frequently discussing the ramifications of Carmen’s reappearance and the speculation on how, possibly, she could still be alive. Angela cannot bother to hear such chatter - especially when all she can hear is the adoration spewing from their voices, the curiosity and the desire spilling from words cutting into her - so she avoids her Patron Librarians whenever possible, unable to stand listening to such frivolous conversations.

Roland, on the other hand, surprises her. Despite having seen the woman he’s loved for all his life come back from the dead, she has yet to see him do anything short of sleep endlessly on one of the couches on the Keter floor. He’s a sad sight: a man curled in upon himself, refusing to acknowledge anyone or anything, and his evident cowardice shreds something inside of Angela, making her angry.

“Why are you still here?”

She asks him this question as she comes upon him, his form still shriveled up and his back turned to her. He seems to notice her presence. For, his body gives a slight shiver, as if the suddenness of her voice has shaken him from a stupor.

He turns to her, head craning just enough that she can see the black of his eyes. There are bags underneath his eyelids: tears crushed in his eyelashes. 

“Why do you ask?” He croaks, voice all sandpaper and gravel: evidence that he hasn’t spoken in a long time.

“Your long lost wife is back from the dead, isn’t she? Why aren’t you trying to go after her? Why aren’t you begging me to leave this place? You _do_ want to go to her, don’t you?”

He blinks, before turning his head away.

“But it’s not what you want, is it?”

She narrows her eyes at the petulance in his voice. “Does it matter what I want?” She sighs. “You’ve always done as you pleased, committing to your own pleasure no matter the cost. What makes this time any different?”

“...” Roland is quiet for a moment, before he, too, releases a sigh. “I know it’s her,” he says. “Only she would know the names of our children. Rinaldo...Armida...those were going to be the names of our child if they were a boy or girl. I only ever talked to her about those names and no one else would know them, not even her brother.”

“Argalia?”

“Yeah, him.” Roland nestles closer to the couch. “I want to go to her.” He says. “I want to meet up with her and hug her and kiss her and tell her I’m sorry for leaving her to die all alone. I don’t know why she’s alive - or how, for that matter - but I want to be with her.”

Roland’s voice is full of yearning. He sounds like he’s talking of a dream he’s yet to have, of a hope that is within reach. Angela can tell from the fondness in his voice that he loves the woman known as Angelica very much, can tell that he’s more than eager to take her into his arms again.

So why? Why does Roland insist on staying in the confines of her Library, torturing himself with thoughts like these if he’d rather be with his wife? It doesn’t make sense, and it makes Angela upset.

She hates seeing him like this: hates seeing the way he’s curled in upon himself, unhappy and moping, a body of depression moaning for someone beyond his reach. It makes something in her spark with unpleasantness: the desire she has for this man pushing her to understand and even empathize with his plight.

Bitter at the reality before her and frustrated with Roland’s inaction, she lets her voice lower in temperature, a chilling bite eating into her words as she says, very firmly: “Then go to her.”

At this, Roland turns to look at her fully, his eyes widening as he looks her over. His mouth is open - gaping - but he seems not to comprehend the sentiment of her words.

She snaps her fingers, allowing for a door to manifest behind her. It is the same door that acts as both an entryway and exit to her domain: the portal between her world and the world outside. Roland must understand this, because the look he gives her is one of confusion.

“I’m giving you permission to leave my Library,” she tells him. “So go.”

He pulls himself to his feet, slipping his hands into his pockets and giving her an uneasy stare. 

“Why?” He asks her, voice quiet and disbelieving, as if he can’t trust the words Angela speaks.

“You love her, don’t you?” She replies in turn. “And she’s waiting for you, isn’t she? So go to her, make her happy. You’re not doing me any favors by sitting around here moping.”

“Angela…” 

Her name is on his tongue, strewn out like he’s tasting the word. He closes his eyes, breathing in a deep breath. He stays like that for a moment, before he lets it loose, shoulders deflating. Then, he starts moving, stepping closer and closer, until after a moment too long he passes her to approach the door behind her.

She doesn’t watch him go: only closes her eyes as he passes, screwing them tightly. She doesn’t let him see the displeasure on her face, just as she doesn’t let him see the pain that is leaking from her mechanical heart. He can’t be bothered by the likes of her emotions, especially not now, when she can hear him pausing just behind her, hesitating for a moment longer than he needs to.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

Angela hears the sound of a door open, close, and then she falls to her knees. She quivers, her arms curled around her, and then she lets loose a scream, not caring how the Library shakes beneath her or how her heart burns with an agony she cannot understand.

~~~

Roland is gone.

Roland is gone and Angela feels empty.

Even still, she must continue working towards her goal.

She is alone now. Her Patron Librarians have stopped attending to her, only reporting to her when necessary. They would much rather spend their time discussing Carmen’s offer, speaking with a vehemence that excludes Angela from their conversations. Even Binah, who she has the most amiable relationship with, seems to have become entangled in these affairs, constantly engaging the others on her curiosities and even seeming enticed by the offer to leave beyond the Library. Hokma is no exception either: despite the doubts on his face, he seems more than willing to discuss the nature of Carmen’s appearance, constantly forming hypotheses on the reasoning behind her resurrection.

Without her Librarians and Roland, Angela is often left to watch the incoming invitations on her own time. She does this with a sense of loss accompanying her, finding herself speaking to a companion who doesn’t exist. Her words fall on nonexistent ears, but she can still hear the echo of a tease in a response from no one, can hear the words of Roland in her ears and imagine the way he’d react to her thoughts and inquiries.

Ah, what a pitiful fool she must be, to hallucinate the voice of someone who has left her behind. Roland has become such an integral part of her life now that his absence is strange to her - mysterious and cold, as if his disappearance has punched some sort of hole into the meaning of her existence. 

Still, it’s not like she can’t see him any longer. Rather, it’s as if she’s cursed to keep seeing him over and over, again and again, as if the world is mocking her for her choice to let him go and see him in a light she’s never seen before.

~~~

In the first invitation she’s seen since Roland’s departure, she watches as the man appears for a few seconds alongside his wife.

It’s only for a brief moment - they don’t even get to talk - but Angela watches as Angelica pulls Roland close to her, nuzzling him with a fondness. He seems to reciprocate the gesture with happiness in his gaze, lips briefly pressing against her own. His lovesickness with her is evident, judging by the way he stares at Angelica like she’s a goddess and lights up with joy when Angelica giggles at something he says.

They’re the picture-perfect couple of love, starting with the way they stare lovingly at each other and ending with the way they press tightly together, as if afraid to let the other go.

Angela cannot stand to watch them any further and she cuts the invitation off prematurely, feeling her insides twist with a strangeness. She should feel happy for Roland. He’s finally looking like he’s enjoying life, like he isn’t distressed by the phantom of a loved one or moping around after her reappearance. But instead she feels a strange sense of estrangement in her body, feels as if there’s a craving inside of her that’s gotten smashed to bits and pieces.

_You got too sentimental._

She thinks this thought with pain etched into her system, closing her eyes and breathing in sharply, trying to distract herself from the agony but unable to do so.

Ah, why can’t she go back to the time before these feelings, to a time when she saw Roland as nothing more than an asset for her goals? Because if she could, then she most certainly wouldn’t be feeling these sentiments, attacked by emotions she cannot put a name to. 

Angela feels an overwhelming sadness barrel at her, sharp arrows piercing through her. It is not unlike the sadness she once felt at Ayin’s abandonment and the cruelty of this realization tears into her.

Again.

Once again, she is being left behind by a person she yearns for. Only, whereas Ayin had never cared for her, had never looked at her, Roland had done everything but. He’d reached out his hands to her, had been kind to her in the way she always wanted, and now he was gone. But the difference lied in the way he had left: Ayin had always abandoned her from the start - Roland hadn’t quite abandoned her. Rather, she’d let him abandon her, had _forced_ him to leave her behind. 

However, unlike the sadness she’d faced with Ayin, the wallowing despair of hope in a sea of self-pity, the sadness she feels now is different. It’s a strange form of sadness, one she doesn’t quite know how to handle. It’s not something that makes her feel angry and confused. Rather, it’s like a bizarre form of happiness, bittersweet despite her own internal agony, as if the burning of her eyes is a sensation she should be happy for.

But Angela isn’t happy. She’s drowning in a sea of emotions, left to fight the feelings that have been biding their time inside her. They rear their heads, biting into her, gnawing at every pore in her body, until she is left shaking, snarling at every little thing that gets in her way and pushing out everything in her mind until she forces herself into an empty calm.

Numbness.

That’s what she wants, desires, _craves._ She wants to be numb, to be rid of these agonizing emotions. But she can’t get rid of them, no matter how hard she tries to play pretend. So she suffocates, breathing in a miasma of things she doesn’t understand - can’t comprehend - until she shuts herself down, pretending as if she doesn’t feel anything, as if she’s not pained by the loss of someone once so close to her.

Even still, Angela cannot take a breath in a world that has once again taken everything from her.

~~~

All the invitations Angela receives are of Roland.

As if playing a cruel trick on her, Angela watches as Roland appears again and again in the invitations she receives. The man is always present in the visions of her invitations - festering like a never-ending curse as he and his appear again and again, taunting Angela with the happiness she does not have.

She’s becoming sick of it. She’s becoming sick of the way Roland clings to his wife, of the way he whispers sweet things into her ear and of the way he seems to melt by the kisses placed on his lip. Angelica seems like the perfect fit for him: laughing at his jokes and happily fighting at his side during the fights the Ensemble takes on.

Ah. How happy Roland looks, how delighted he seems by the presence of Angelica. They move in perfect tandem to each other, their actions synchronized as if they have known each other for years. Angela watches the way they participate in battle, finding Angelica’s movements just as familiar as Roland’s own. They work well as a team, she realizes, and something about that makes her almost envious in nature.

However, Angela is so caught up on the image of _them_ \- of their perfectness together, of the way they work side-by-side like they’re one individual - that she fails to notice how Roland starts to crumple. His face, which always reveals his happiness, his fondness, his _love_ for his wife, starts faltering into the image of uncertainty, as if there are doubts festering in his mind. 

It’s not noticeable, at least not to Angela, but furrows of suspicion line Roland’s brow, as if he is dissatisfied by something. His face is plagued by confusion and hesitancy, his smiling lips occasionally faltering into a frown. It is a strange sight for someone supposedly so happy. Even still, Angela fails to notice this change in his expression, only ever focusing on his overt affection for his wife. 

Growing weary of his appearances and agonizing over what she can no longer control, Angela lets her Patron Librarians tend to her guests, refusing to acknowledge the loneliness she feels festering inside her. After all, she has her own desires to attend to her - her perfect book to obtain. She cannot let herself be distracted any longer by wishes she cannot fulfill. Not anymore.

So, ignoring that which haunts her, Angela continues on with her work. She cannot waste time focusing on those who are now out of reach. So, instead, she starts putting her efforts towards recollecting the light that was lost, intent on perfection, no matter the cost.

~~~

Time continues moving onwards. More and more books are collected, just as more and more doubts start to fester in her Library.

The Patron Librarians have lost their excitement. Ever since Carmen’s arrival, they’ve been chatting up a storm, eager to talk more and more about the woman who has long since left them behind. Now, however, there seems to be a sense of unease following in their footsteps, as if the ecstatic high they’ve been chasing has finally crashed down upon them.

Angela can’t pinpoint the reason for the change, but she’s glad that the atmosphere has shifted. The Patron Librarians have returned to their normal discussions, handing Angela reports on books sent their way and engaging in friendly flirtation with their fellow companions. The plague that has been haunting them - the appearance of Carmen, and the relevance of her resurrection - seems to have loosened their grip on them, allowing for an air of normal liveliness that Angela has gone so long without.

However, she finds that normalcy threatened when an Ensemble patrol comes to her Library. But “comes” isn’t quite the right word because instead of asking for an audience like Carmen had before, this patrol barrels into Angela’s domain with a bloodthirsty tension.

Angela greets her guests with narrowed eyes and a cold stare, intent on having her Librarians clash with the strangers who’ve dared to tread so hungrily on her domain, when she realizes who is among them.

Roland and his wife stand side by side alongside a platoon of Ensemble-cloaked minions, both looking riddled with anticipation. Angelica’s gaze is confident, her head tilted upwards with the nobility of being battle-ready. She’s a remarkable sight, with her white hair draped behind her, an unflinching gaze cast in Angela’s direction, and a spear that glistens with blood readied before her.

At her side, Roland seems less confident. He presses close to his wife, holding out a sword. He seems to be avoiding Angela’s gaze, black eyes looking nowhere but at his wife and the goons behind him. He’s biting his lower lip, looking strangely hurt, and when a dog-headed woman comes to his side, whispering words in his ears, his expression only stretches into painful agony.

Angela wants to say something. Anything. Wants to talk to him at least once more, to look at his eyes and look for the fondness that was once inside them. But she holds her ground, meeting Angelica’s gaze as she straightens.

“Greetings, Angelica,” Angela says, speaking the name with as much politeness as she can muster. After all, it wouldn’t do to treat someone so important to Roland so badly in the name of her own selfish feelings. “Why have you come here?”

“Greetings, Angela, Director of the Library.” Angelica’s words are just as polite as her own. However, there’s a lilt of something hidden underneath them, a strange tease of knowing echoing in her voice. “I’m here on Carmen’s request. I’m here to keep her promise. If anyone wants to join us, come with me now and I’ll escort you to her. You’ll be welcome with us.”

Her words read as mechanical, as if she’s speaking lines she’s practiced several times over. Angela frowns, but is more distressed by the way her librarians are hesitating all around her. They look at Angelica, then look amongst themselves, as if deciding whether to stay or go. 

Then, Malkuth steps forward. “I refuse.” She says.

The Patron Librarians gaze at her, then seem to follow in her footsteps.

“I’m afraid I have to refuse too,” Binah says. “I have no interest in following the Ensemble’s workings, however curious they may be.”

“I agree,” Yesod says, nodding to the woman as he steps up alongside Malkuth.

“Me too,” Hod murmurs. Netzach dips his head in agreement as he leans against Hod, his face sleepy but his gaze clear and true.

Gebura and Tiphereth both shake their heads, their rejection clear from the scowls on their faces. Chesed offers a frown, but does not do anything more than nod his head in their direction, as if offering his agreeance with their decision.

Hokma, the last to give his decision, steps up in front of the Patron Librarians. His eyes are narrowed, his expression cold. He doesn’t give Angela a glance as he steps up alongside her, but she can feel the way his words seem to be spoken for her benefit.

“We’ve all chosen to move forward from the past,” Hokma says. “We’re no longer going to be trapped in Carmen’s shadow. We love her, and appreciate her offer, but we can’t move ahead if we’re always chasing after her.”

“So you all refuse, then?” Says the dog-headed woman. _Tanya_ , if Angela remembers correctly. 

“Yes, we refuse,” Hokma says.

Tanya scratches the back of her head, looking rather annoyed. “Well then...this makes things hella awkward for me. Carmen was so sure you’d join us. And now we’ve gotta pick you all off.”

A sudden tension sweeps through the room. The Patron Librarians stiffen, their eyes wide, and Angela feels their surprise resonating with herself, looking at Roland and noticing the way he flushes with guilt.

“So you’re here to destroy the Library then?”

“Or try to, yeah,” Tanya’s voice is brutally honest, as if she doesn’t care for keeping things polite. “That’s what the boss man said, so here I am, dishing out his orders. We can’t let you exist any longer, especially when your Head Librarian here isn’t going to be using the light she’s collecting for a noble purpose.”

Angela curls her lips. “And Carmen’s purpose is noble?”

“More noble than making your pretty head become human.” Tanya shrugs her shoulders. “But, eh, as if I give a damn. I just follow the boss’s orders. We want to make some music, and the Library’s going to get in the way of that. So, we’re here to take over.”

“I won’t let you do that,” Angela says. She looks to her librarians. They meet her gaze readily, eyes speaking of an acceptance to a question she hasn’t even asked yet. Something grateful twirls within her. She’s happy that they’re on her side for once, and she nods her head, glaring in Tanya’s direction. “ _We_ won’t let you do that.”

“I was afraid of that. Welp, don’t blame me, miss. Orders are orders, and I’ve got to fulfill them. Roland, An, and the rest of y’all, you know what to do.”

The two nod, readying their weapons. Angela tenses, and so do her Patron Librarians. There’s a moment of silence, of waiting and anticipation, before the two charge forward, followed by Tanya and her Ensemble minions.

Everything happens in a blur. Her Patron Librarians move forward, their keypages equipped as they clash with the intruders of the Library. All around Angela, blood stains the air, splattering her domain as a skirmish takes place. She joins the fight after a pause, summoning a sword made from light in her hands.

Technically, she has no reason to fight. She’s always left the fighting to her librarians, after all, and has always been wary of wielding her Library’s powers unfairly against those she’s invited in. But these aren’t invited guests. Rather, they’re intruders. Skilled ones, at that. Though they appear like faceless individuals to her - strangers without meaning to her life - they are undoubtedly strong. She can tell her Librarians are struggling, frustration on their faces as they fight.

She sighs, holding her sword before her and using her Library to guide her steps. The knowledge collected by her domain allows her to cut those around her with ease, as if thousands of years of battle have hardened themselves in her muscles. 

She dances through the crowd of minions who come her way, parrying blows and attacking those who dare to go against her. She moves with a strange elegance, guided by the memories of those who have long since been booked. Her sword moves as an extension of her, allowing her to move her way through the crowd of blue-and-black minions who come to attack her.

As Angela does so, however, she’s pushed and pulled, moving through the crowd until she reaches the center of the fight. Snarls of anger and calls of authority sound all around her, coming from both her Librarians and from those who casually seek to take everything for themselves. As Angela navigates through the chaotic mess of a fight, she finds herself bumping into a stranger. She spins on her heels, holding her sword in front of her, but is stunned by the person who meets her blow.

Roland stands in front of her, the determined expression on his face quickly slackening into horror. He pushes back, jumping away from her blade. His expression is distorted, teeth biting so hard into his bottom lip that Angela can see the blood poking through torn skin. 

She looks at him, watching. He holds her gaze, the guilt clear on his face. He looks distressed and uncertain, backing away from her step-by-step. She wants to approach him, to talk to him, but finds herself unable to speak at this very moment.

Then, as if unable to face her any longer, Roland spins on his heels, running away only to clash with Yesod. She watches him go, gripping the hilt of her sword tightly. She’s tempted to close her eyes, but knows doing so would be foolish in the midst of battle. So she returns to her fight, appearing at Tiphereth’s side to help her fend off three attackers. The girl glances at her, looking annoyed at her interference, but Angela can see the weariness on her brow. The girl is doing well to hold her own, but she’s struggling as much as her assistants are, huffing and puffing, sweat slickening her face. 

As if sensing the fatigue of their companions, Gebura and Chesed appear, the two aiding Tiphereth and Angela with calculated blows. The pair work in perfect tandem, reading each other’s movements to the point they’re able to both attack and defend without worrying about getting a scratch on themselves. 

Angela nods to the both of them, passing on her respects as she continues onwards, blocking a blow from an axe.

Across from her, working side-by-side in the same way that Gebura and Chesed are, is Binah and Hokma. The two are back-to-back, both working to fend off the attacks from a ring of intruders. They seem to fight well together, luring enemies in only to end them with trickery and strength. Angela watches the two of them, surprised at how two former enemies could do so well together, but as she passes them she can’t help but accept the looks they send in her direction, beckoning them onwards as she continues fighting those who attack her.

Eventually, as she swings her sword and parries blows, Yesod, Malkuth, Hod and Netzach join her. The four work in unison, using their various talents and Abnormality pages to survive the attacks sent their way. Their assistant librarians are flocking around them, defending their patrons with a ferocity that can only be obtained from pure loyalty. 

The Patron Librarians don’t greet Angela as they help her out, only continuing with their fight. Angela can see the eyes of Spider Bud appearing around Hod just as how Solemn Lament’s outfit dons Yesod as he shoots off guns with windchime bullets. Malkuth is dressed in the ashy fires of Matched Girl’s cloak while Netzach has a glowing pebble hung around his neck.

She’s not surprised to see them relying on their Abnormalities to guide them. After all, that’s what the purpose of the Abnormalities are: to protect the Library through the powers they’ve lost. Still, it unnerves Angela how her Patron Librarians seem to be struggling even despite the help of the monsters, gritting their teeth and defending against blows only to stumble back when staggered by attacks.

This battle is tough and unexpected, so it makes sense that her Librarians are struggling. Still, Angela knows they’re not to be underestimated. As she fights alongside them for a moment, blocking a blow aiming for Malkuth’s neck and clashing with a man who goes after Yesod, she finds that her Librarians don’t need protecting. Even if she interferes in their battles, working alongside them, they work with a synchronization that Angela cannot match. So she bids them farewell with a nod of her head, finding her help unneeded, and continues on, passing by the books of fallen Ensemble members as she does so.

Time ticks by. Angela defends her Library as best she can, unwilling to let it fall to the likes of the Ensemble. She has yet to reach her goals. She has yet to become human, to earn her freedom, to take revenge against the likes of Ayin and Carmen. So she continues fighting, stepping on golden planks and dancing around golden-shaped pages as she slashes down on those who dare to go against her. Her movements are timed well, but the longer the fight goes on, the more the power of the Library wanes. Her limbs grow weary, the muscles within crying with fatigue, and it is little wonder that Angela slows, her chest heaving as she deals with the limits of her weakening body. And, as her body grows tired, she makes a fatal mistake:

She lowers her guard.

It happens in an instant. One moment, she’s taking a break from all the killing. In the next, a shadow falls upon her, large and ferocious, and as Angela turns to defend herself, sword held up to block a blow oncoming, but she’s too slow.

The woman known as Angelica bears down upon her, spear reaching for Angela’s heart.

Fear tears into Angela, ripe and prominent. She finds herself calculating the speed of Angelica’s blow, knowing there is no way to defend against something her body can’t respond to in time. She watches in slow motion as the black tip of Angelica’s spear bears down upon her, eyes wide, and braces herself for the pain that’s soon to come.

But...the blow never comes.

Instead, a sharp voice rips through the air, familiar and strange all at once:

_“Angela!”_

Something slices through Angelica, stabbing her through her body. The momentum of the attack sends Angelica’s weapon off-kilter, the tip slicing against Angela’s cheek as the white-haired woman’s body falls to the floor beside her. Blood burns her skin, but Angela is more focused on the one who has saved her.

Roland stands before her, huffing and puffing, his eyes wide as he meets her gaze. He looks desperate, his face distorted in pain, before he looks to his wife, the blood on his sword - his hands - and collapses by the side of his wife.

“Oh god…” He inhales sharply, grabbing at his wife, watching the way she spits up red and clasping her body into his arms. “Angelica...Angelica I’m…”

Angela watches him, shaking at the unexpected turn of events and the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The room seems to still, all heads turned in their direction, and as Roland nuzzles against Angelica, eyes fresh with tears, Angela finds herself more and more confused at what, exactly, is going on.

“Don’t cry, Roland,” Angelica says, reaching up a hand to cup Roland’s cheek. The man whimpers, leaning against her touch. “You just did what you had to, right?”

“I’m sorry,” he tells her. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“It was going to happen sooner or later,” Angelica murmurs. “You knew it was.”

“But I didn’t want to have to end it like this.”

Angelica spits up blood, and Roland desperately wipes it away. The woman shakes her head, looking rather tearful as she adjusts herself. Her gaze slips to Angela for a moment, gaze dulling but a spark of emotion still showing nonetheless. Angelica’s gaze is soft and empathetic, luring Angela inwards and asking for her to understand the meaning behind such a stare. Angela doesn’t understand, however, only watching as Angelica’s eyes drift from her to Roland, and then back to her.

The woman’s lips move, colored in ruby-red as she says, without speaking: _“I’m sorry for being selfish._ ”

Angelica pulls Roland down, kissing his lips. The man’s eyes widen, but then his expression crumbles into something foolish. He returns the kiss gently, whimpering quite obviously. And when Angelica’s head drifts downwards into his hands, he curls her close to him, hugging the woman close to him even as her skin glows gold and she disappears, her body manifesting into paper pages.

Roland cries, and he cries loudly, picking up the pages, holding them tight. However, unlike the rest of Angela’s fallen guests, the pages manifested from Roland’s wife don’t form into a book. Instead, they disappear into sparkles of light, dissipating into thin air as if there is no book to be made from such a woman.

A sharp pang of something harsh prods into Angela, sending her heart burning in pain as she watches Roland’s sobbing form. She approaches him, her footsteps light and uncertain, but determination pushing her forward. Around her, those of the Ensemble make a move to encroach upon them, cold eyes readying upon Angela, but their advances are stopped by that of the Patron Librarians. Binah and Hokma, Gebura and Chesed, Tiphereth and Hod and Malkuth and Yesod and Netzach...all of them and their assistants form a ring around Angela and Roland, snarling at those who dare to approach.

“Roland.” Angela says, bending down in front of the man she knows as her friend. “I’m here for you.”

He doesn’t respond to her, doesn’t look up or do anything other than look at his hands, as if he wishes for the golden pages that have left his grip to return. His gaze is empty, lifeless, as if his soul has been sucked from his body. Angela sighs, knowing not what else to do. So, she turns to her Patron Librarians, nodding her head.

They return the gesture with a nod of their own, driving back the Ensemble, killing those who remain and driving back Tanya in the process. The dog-headed woman snarls, looking unhappy with the outcome, but it seems she’s not willing to die, either. She slips out the door of the Library, disappearing from Angela’s domain.

Left with only Roland and her Librarians, Angela collapses to her knees. It seems the stress of battle has caught up to her. For, her body cries with a strange kind of pain, fatigue biting into her. Something feels wrong, and the others must sense it. For, her Patron Librarians are swarming her in an instant, fussing over both her and Roland, their words fast and yet incomprehensible.

Angela sways, and then she collapses.

~~~

When Angela comes to, she realizes that everything feels strange.

Her body feels awkward to move, limbs stiff and pained. She winces whenever she moves her arms and legs, moving so slowly so as to avoid the annoyance of her misery. However, as she does so, she hears footsteps moving in her direction. She looks up, watching in surprise as Hokma approaches her, his arms crossed and a frown on his face.

“How are you feeling, Angela?”

“I’m hurting,” she says.

“You’ll get used to it,” Hokma murmurs. “It’s to be expected. You’ve never quite fought in a human-like body before, have you?”

“Is that why I feel…” She grasps for the word she needs. “Sore?”

“Yes. It is.” Hokma nods his head. He approaches, and Angela narrows her eyes. He frowns, before sighing, taking a step back. “I’m here to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“Roland.”

Angela tenses. She avoids Hokma’s gaze, unable to look at the man as she clasps her hands in her lap. “...How is he?”

“...” Hokma lets out a breath. “You should come see him.”

“I don’t think I have the right to.”

“Because Roland killed his wife for you?”

She thinks of the way Roland had stood in front of her, his sword stained with the blood of his wife. She thinks of the horrified expression on his face, and the way he’d gone to Angelica’s side, cradling her in his arms as he cried over the consequences of his own actions.

Angela closes her eyes. “He shouldn’t have.”

She hears Hokma approach her once again and she stiffens. Hokma’s footsteps get closer to her, before they stop somewhere close to her.

“Do you feel responsible for his actions?”

She tightens her shoulders. “He was happy with his wife, wasn’t he? Why save me, then? Especially when he had to lose her to do so?”

“He made the choice between his past and his future. And he chose you.” Something warm lands on Angela’s shoulder. It’s a gentle touch: familiar and nostalgic. Angela opens her eyes, looking at Hokma, at the expression of a man she once knew as a friend. There’s a gentle smile on his face, soft and reassuring. “Right now, Roland is hurting inside. He won’t talk to us. Any of us. But, he might open up to you. Go talk to him, see why he did why he did. You’ll probably find the answers you’re looking for, too.”

She looks at him, trying to muster iciness in her tone and only coming up with lukewarm words. “What answers am I looking for?”

“Why Roland chose you over his wife. Why he killed his wife for you.” Hokma gently nudges her to her feet. She obliges, frowning at his carefulness. It’s as if he, too, is afraid of how to handle this entire conversation between them. “Come talk to him. You’ve been missing him, haven’t you?”

“I have not,” she says.

Hokma smiles at that, saying no more. She frowns, fully aware of his teasing, but obliges his beckoning anyways, following him through the maze of her Library and towards a familiar room: Roland’s room.

She stands at the door, peering into a place that is empty, save for the piles of book on the floor, two sofas occupied by two people, and a bed that sits empty and unused.

Gebura and Roland are seated before her, with the former talking uselessly to the latter, who slumps in his seat and looks as if he doesn’t want to respond. The red-haired woman scowls, sighing loudly, before she takes notice of Angela in the doorway and gestures her in.

“Angela’s here now, Roland. At least talk to her and give her an explanation, yeah? She deserves one after all this time.”

The man flinches, before he looks upwards, meeting Angela’s gaze. If he was unresponsive before, he seems to be responsive now. 

Roland’s eyes are wide and puffy, an exhaustion evident in his entire body. He watches her as she approaches, taking Gebura’s seat as the woman leaves with Hokma. The door closes shut, and the two of them are left alone.

They watch each other, saying nothing, only staring. She doesn’t know how to go from here, can only feel herself observing the way Roland seems to ease in her presence, his shrunken posture opening up ever-so-slowly, as if he’s readying himself for something.

“Angela…” He says after a moment, whispering her name. “Angela, are you...okay?”

She blinks at him. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” She asks him, exasperated.

He grimaces, hanging his head. He’s silent for a few minutes before he says, in a whisper: “It hurts.”

“Do you regret it? Killing her, I mean?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I regret it, what I’ve done. I didn’t want to do it but...but I saw her going after you, saw how you weren’t going to make it in time to block An's blow and...and I acted before I could think.” Roland looks at his hands. “But I couldn’t...I couldn’t let her just kill you. It’s just...I didn’t want her to hurt you but I also…I didn’t realize what I was doing. And now she’s...gone.”

“Why did you save me?” Angela frowns at herself, before correcting her words. “I appreciate what you’ve done, as I probably would’ve been killed by that blow. I felt fear in that instance. I knew I was going to die. Even the Library’s powers wouldn’t have saved me, if she’d landed that attack. Even so...that woman...Angelica...you treasured her deeply, right? Why protect me then?”

“I...don’t know. I just didn’t...I couldn’t stand to let you get hurt and I...I don’t know if I made the right decision.” He curls his hands into fists, looking frustrated at himself. “Angelica...she was herself. She was my wife, the lovely lady I’ve always known and loved. But...but that wasn’t her. Not entirely.”

“...” Angela frowns. 

Roland looks at her, pain wrinkling his face. “She was the woman I knew, but she was being controlled.”

“Controlled?”

“By the Ensemble. Specifically, the woman known as Tanya. A necromancer.”

Angela furrows her eyebrows. “Is necromancy even possible?”

“If you’re a Distortion, yeah.” Roland lets loose a sigh. “Point is, Angelica was being controlled by her, forced to do things she didn’t want. Coming to the Library, fighting against you and the others? She didn’t want to do that, if you can believe it. But apparently there’s rules to necromancy. A corpse can’t disobey its master. And that master doesn’t disobey her orchestrator.”

“Argalia.”

“Yeah, him.” Roland sighs. “He’s Angelica’s brother. After her death, he went insane, just like I did. Only, he stayed insane. It looks like, when Angelica became resurrected, she was forced to fight for him, even if she hated doing so.” He runs his fingers through his hair, unease in his expression. “To be honest, I bet, if given a choice, she wouldn’t have attempted to kill you like that. Honestly, she seemed to like you. And if wasn’t for the Ensemble…”

“She wouldn’t have tried to kill me?” Angela surmises.

“You got it.” Roland leans back in his seat, his bottom lip trembling for a second. “Please don’t think badly of Angelica. She’s not the kind of person to have done that, not of her own free will. Honestly, if I could’ve stopped her I would. I didn’t want to kill her. I didn’t. But...but when I saw her going after you...I...I _panicked_.”

There’s a shiver to his body. Angela frowns as he shudders, gaze watching the way his eyes start to glaze with wetness. She leaves her seat, approaching Roland’s sofa and, after a moment of hesitance, takes a seat beside him. He turns his head to accommodate her, watching her as he takes in a deep breath, lets it loose, and then takes a deep breath again.

“I thought I’d be happy with her,” he says, quietly. “I thought I’d be happy to be with her again, Ensemble or not. And I was happy. But it wasn’t the happiness I wanted. I can’t be happy with someone who’s suffering, who has no free will. So killing her was a mercy, I suppose. Because I need to move on. Because she couldn’t stay here forever, trapped by the desires of others. I realize I need to move on from her, I know that now. But...even still...even still I’m afraid of doing so. I don’t know how to move forward, Angela. I don’t.”

Tears slip down Roland’s cheeks, and he rubs at his eyes, using his sleeves to wipe at his eyes. She can hear the gasp in his breaths, can see the way his chest heaves for air. He’s struggling with the weight on his shoulders, drowning in a deluge of emotions.

Angela reaches for him, dragging him towards her despite the ache in her bones. She clasps her arms around him, pressing his head against her shoulders. He seems to understand the meaning behind her gestures, for he digs his hands into the silk of her jacket, crying into the slope of her shoulder.

She watches as he does so, hugging him closer to her.

“You don’t have to do anything right now,” she tells him, her words genuine. “Just relax. No one’s forcing you to make a decision anymore.”

He sobs at that, and she only hums in response, doing her best to reassure him, her fingers running through his hair. He seems to lean into her gestures, finding comfort in her presence. She sits with him in her arms, listening to his convulsive gasps, before his bawling becomes nothing more than silence, and she realizes that he’s fallen unconscious. 

Angela adjusts him, setting him across the length of her lap, ignoring the stains on her jacket as she looks at the man before her. His face is strangely peaceful despite the tears he’d been shedding only moments ago, posture relaxed. He looks calm now. Happy, even. 

She sighs, running her fingers through his hair. He doesn’t seem to sense her touch but even still, he nestles closer.

Grateful for the words her companion has spoken, she smiles slightly, leaning back in her seat as she says, rather softly: “It’s going to be alright now, Roland.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Fun fact, Yan was supposed to appear in this chapter but I found I couldn't make sense of his appearance at this point without blatantly shoehorning him in for my own enjoyment lol :>)
> 
> Most people: Angela would be the one to break down first and cry while Roland comforts her.  
> Me: Roland's gonna break down and Angela's gonna awkwardly comfort him
> 
> idk I just think it makes more sense if Roland breaks down during the game then Angela, especially since the former has already been foreshadowed and the latter is still coming to terms with emotions and considering her cold and stoic demeanor for most of the game the only thing I can think of that might make her break is Roland's death/betrayal (in which case he wouldn't be there to comfort her anyways lol)
> 
> I think a lot of Roland's character arc in the canon game will (or, well, /should/) revolve around getting over his wife's death. Even if I'm not even sure if he actually remembers who his wife is as of the November 6th update (because it sure as hell feels like he doesn't even know who Angelica is despite Argalia confirming Angelica to be Roland's wife) I still think a lot of Roland's character development needs to center on him acknowledging he needs to move on from her death. My way of confronting this issue was to have Angelica revived, have Roland choose to go to her for "happiness" (and for Angela to allow him to do so out of ~friendship~ for him), and then for Roland to realize that he's chasing after an illusion of happiness and learn to finally try and move on (as he's realizing here :D)
> 
> Also @ Argalia's character (with slight spoilers for next chapter lol): if it turns out that he's just gathering around people who distorted /just to play some music/ and not like...to take down the City out of vengeance via Pianist Round 2 for his sister's death or something...I will be Very Disappointed because imo it makes a lot of sense for him to be gathering up these City-hating people (aka the Puppeteer, Tanya, etc.) in order to overthrow the government of the City because, up until this update, that's literally what he's been doing. From getting rid of the Smiling Faces (who kill people) to destroying the Shi/Liu (who are loyal "dogs" to the City) to recruiting those who hate the Nests system (Puppeteer) and those who want a shot at a comfy life (Tanya) it seems like Argalia has plans to overthrow the City though that motive has been shot in the foot since Friday :') Not gonna lie I also dislike his current motive for him doing things (which, as far as I can tell, can be summed up with "I want to hear the Pianist's music again so I'm going to find a way to recreate it and/or my sister") because it feels like it fits the theme of the story a lot less (revenge is bad, move on from the past to the future, etc.) and also kind of feels cheap for his character (especially since I thought he had this grand scheme in mind and was cunningly planning out everything as he went along only to be told he's doing things on a whim with no grand plan truly in mind aside from "music uwu". Which is...disappointing...because I rather like the first interpretation of him as some sort of grand chessmaster lol).
> 
> Anyways!!! Next chapter is when the romance starts to pick up (and I really do mean "pick up") so once I get that chapter finished look forward to Roland and Angela becoming pining idiots :P


	4. Plot Summary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :')

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to the 8 people subscribed to this and anyone else who may be reading,,, sorry to end the fanfic like this but i can tell my hyperfixation with this fandom is petering out which probably means I'll never be able to finish this properly since im running low on motivation to finish writing this :')
> 
> So!! That said, I don't want to necessarily leave this unfinished. I've included a plot summary down below and some snippets that I've written beforehand so this piece can have somewhat of a conclusion haha. 
> 
> as a note, this starts off with how the chapter was going to open up and then jumps into the plot summary, with some pre-written pieces added in~

Roland hasn’t left his room for a few weeks now.

Perhaps it’s to be expected. After all, it hasn’t been that long since the man has claimed his wife’s life with his own hands. Angela suspects her friend is still traumatized by such an incident, especially if he’s long since locked the door to his room.

Her Librarians have tried to lure Roland out of his room, calling his name and asking him to come out. They’ve become such a nuisance about it that Angela’s had to tell them off more than once, reminding them to “let him be” every time they dare to fuss over him.

He needs his time and space. This, Angela understands. So she leaves him alone, moving on with her plans, not knowing when Roland will join her again but not willing to push him, either. 

Instead, she turns her attention to the things she can manage. The recent attack by the Ensemble has left her Librarians tattered and in ruins. Despite the healing powers of her Library, it is clear to Angela that the likes of even Binah and Gebura won’t last much longer against intruders. Even she cannot protect her Library for long, not when her last fight had proven to her the weakness of her human body - the limits of its usage before she fatigues herself just as much as her Librarians do themselves.

So, perhaps it becomes an opportunity when a lone stranger visits the Library. He is escorted to her office space by Gebura and Chesed, both of whom are looking mighty wary as the newcomer offers up a bow before Angela.

“Greetings, Head Director.”

Angela looks over the youth known as Yan, recognizing him instantly as one of the Index’s Messengers. She’s seen him before in the invitations - white hair, white ponytail, white outfit, gold collar, black suit - and she finds herself frowning at his sudden appearance, wary of the way he leans on his sword and even more wary of the way he tilts his head at her, closed eyes seemingly watching her every move.

“Greetings, Messenger of the Index,” Angela returns his politeness with her own, nodding her head curtly as she beckons him closer. He obeys, flanked still by Angela’s Patron Librarians. “What brings you all the way to my Library?”

“I’ve come on a Prescript,” he says, voice soft. “I’d like to propose an alliance between the Index and the Library.”

There’s a murmur from Gebura and Chesed. They look at him, baffled, and Angela feels the surprise reflecting on her face.

“Why does the Index want to ally with us?” 

Yan’s eyebrows furrow. “I don’t know myself,” he admits. “But the Prescripts are absolute. I’m to offer you an alliance with the Index. In return for your agreement, we will station proselytes to protect the Library from unwanted intruders.”

“So is this famous Prescript-Maker of yours omnipotent?” Gebura frowns. “It sure seems awfully suspicious you’ve come to us just at the same moment when we needed a helping hand.”

“I only follow the Prescripts,” Yan replies in turn, stiffening. “I know nothing further.”

“Says the kid who’s got it out for his organization. What, you think we haven’t noticed? You dislike the Index, don’t you?”

“...” Yan says nothing to that, only watching Angela. “I’ve come here only to ask for an answer. It doesn’t matter to me whether you refuse or accept.”

“And what do you get in return for this?” Angela asks him, narrowing her eyes. “I know only a little about the Index’s workings, but I find it curious that you would give us your protection without asking for something in return.”

Yan nods his head ever so slightly. “According to what I understand, we have a common enemy. We’ll lend you our strength so you aren’t bothered by unnecessary guests and, in return, we learn of the Ensemble’s movements through whoever they may send your way.”

“Your information network must be pretty vast if you understand our inner workings,” Chesed says breezily. He sips from the cup of coffee in his hands. “Of course, I hear Messengers like to get around, too.”

The man in front of them stiffens, eyebrows drawn downwards as if to narrow his eyes, before he bites his lip and speaks again. “I’m merely following the Prescripts.”

“Sure, sure,” Gebura looks to Angela. “What do you say? Should we take the kid on his offer?”

“Kid…?” Yan mutters, eyebrows furrowing.

Angela crosses her arms. It’s not too bad of an offer, perhaps even advantageous. Angela and her Librarians are strong, but they are few in number. Their guests are many, and even the powers of the Library cannot sustain them endlessly, especially when its powers seem to be weakening as Angela becomes closer to being human. There is going to be a breaking point soon enough, a moment where neither she nor her Patrons can defend the Library any further. The offer of the man before her is therefore a surprising boon with trading knowledge for defense. 

She looks to Gebura and Chesed. The two meet her gaze, eyes prodding her own. They seem curious as to her decision, both strangely patient, and when Angela sighs, she finds her decision made.

“We’ll accept your offer.” She tells him, watching the way his eyebrows lift in surprise. “I can see that the Prescripts, or perhaps yourself even, will be a helpful accommodation to my goals. So I guess it’s only fair we trade knowledge for your protection, especially since you seem loyal to your Prescripts’ teachings.”

The man tilts his head oh-so-slightly before dipping it into a humble nod. His ponytail sways, a fountain of white, before he picks his sword up from her floor. “I will keep in touch with you,” he says.

“In touch?”

“I need to gather my proselytes,” he tells her. “In order to establish a proper defense for your Library, I will have to sort things out on my end. When I return, I’ll be in discussion with you on how to fulfill my Prescript further.”

“I see.” Her response is just as curt as his own. “Then I will welcome your eventual return.”

The Messenger nods, speaking no more, and Gebura is quick to escort him away. Chesed stays behind, watching his disappearance as he sips from his cup.

“I recognize that face,” the man says, peering into his coffee. “It’s the face of one who feels in despair.”

Angela looks at him. “What are you implying?”

“That Messenger isn’t all he says he is,” Chesed brings his cups to his lips, but does not take a sip: pausing. “That’s not the face of a loyal follower of the Index.”

“Is he a threat, then?” Angela asks the man.

“A follower who wishes to leave a cult is always going to be desperate for escape.” The man responds, almost cryptically. “But perhaps my days of researching social studies have caught up to me. For now, I think he’s an asset to your plans. It might be best to keep him around.”

She looks over him, briefly closing her eyes and then opening them. “Well, it’s none of my concern at the moment. If he turns on us, we can always book him.”

“That we can,” Chesed agrees airily.

“Let’s worry about this later then.” She dismisses him and he goes willingly, seemingly relieved to be released from her presence. 

Left alone in her Library, she looks at the piles of books that have accumulated by her desk. They sit in stacks upon stacks, gathered around her desk with names and titles that call to her. However, what calls to her more is the emptiness of their presence, the loneliness of their circumstances as they sit, waiting to be sorted.

Angela wonders why her mind thinks of the man who has locked himself in his room. She’s grown used to his absence, so used to it that knowing that he is back in her domain makes her uneasy. She hasn’t been able to face him since he broke down in front of her. Hasn’t been able to look at his face or say anything more than what she’s already said. It’s lamentable, almost, how she can’t seem to get used to him being in reach again, how she’s shrinking back and refusing to long for him again.

She’s over that, she thinks. She’s over holding expectations and having to let them go. That’s done and said now. It’s time for her to focus on her mission. Roland being in her Library again makes no difference. Progress is to be made, after all, but not with him.

~~~

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Plot Summary:**

**~~**

Roland tries working more actively towards Angela’s future, saying that Argalia’s gone too far and that this fight is personal now. He agrees to help her efforts in stopping the Ensemble by continuing to work towards her Perfect Book. Angela is thrilled to have his full support but tells him not to push himself, especially since he’s been in a depression the last few days and she doesn’t want to stress him anymore than he already is.

Roland reassures her that he’s decided he’s ready to move on now and that he won’t let his wife’s specter stop him from looking for a future for himself. As he says this, his expression softens towards her as he says he’s going to “take Tiphereth’s advice in finding someone who means a lot to him”.

~~~

Roland reciprocates being Angela’s friend and has discussions with her, working with her to fortify the Library from City and Ensemble raids. Angela lets him know about Yan, who comes and goes, and Roland says he’s not sure if such nutcases don't have an ulterior motive at hand for doing this. He also seems a little concerned about her trusting in Yan, but says her judgement is true as the Library’s protections is weakening so relying on the Index’s help, especially if they promised through Prescript, seems to be a good idea.

~~~

Roland starts coming to talk to her more often, doing so out of his own volition instead of Hokma’s or someone else’s. He seems to keep making excuses to see her, so much so that Angela is starting to notice. She tries asking him about if but he always avoids the question. Annoyed, she takes up chats with the lower layer Sephirot, each of whom seem to know something but ask her if she likes the attention or not that Roland’s suddenly giving her. She admits she likes it, but also that she doesn’t understand Roland’s motive for doing so.

Yesod accuses her of being dense but Malkuth’s just D:< at him for saying that. They seem relieved that Angela doesn’t understand what she’s being “dense” about and ask her how close she wants to get to Roland.

“We’re already friends, are we not?”

“Oh my god.” Malkuth says.

“Shh,” Hod tells her. “Let Angela find out on her own.”

“Find out what?”

“Roland’s motive for being talkative to you.”

“It’s pretty obvious,” Yesod scoffs.

“Yesod I am  _ five seconds _ away from banning you from visiting my floor ever again.”

“Urgh...don’t be like that Malkuth.”

~~~~

Angela is able to feel temperature. She dislikes the feeling of being cold and finds herself pulled to Roland’s warmth during one of their sessions discussing the movements of the City. She starts shivering badly and Roland is “???” about it. She explains she’s beginning to sense the temperature and that she’s merely cold atm. Roland sighs, pulling off his jacket and draping it over her shoulders. She likes the warmth of his jacket, but complains it’s not enough. She leans against him, saying she likes this better, and Roland’s just exasperated but lets her do as she pleases. She reads her book, enjoying Roland’s comfort and warmth.

~~~   


Angela starts making it a habit of being close to Roland for warmth, getting attached to him to the point Chesed jokes about Roland being her “hot water bottle”. Yesod points out that Angela can’t cling to Roland forever for warmth and tells Roland that if “she’s making you uncomfortable, just say so.”

Angela asks him if she’s being too pushy and that she’ll stop if she’s bothering him. Roland looks awkward about it, saying he doesn’t mind it, but seems to be uncomfortable about being put on the spot. She tells him that she’ll stop using her as her, as Chesed puts it, “hot water bottle”, and is surprised to see Roland look disappointed about it. 

~~~~

Hokma approaches Angela and asks to talk. She is uncertain, even hesitating, before she realizes she can’t avoid him forever. She agrees and he takes her to his floor. 

Hokma tells her that, while she doesn’t have to agree with him, Ayin was human just as her. He reveals that Ayin wanted to like her, but the fact that she awoke emotions too slowly and reminded him so badly of Carmen made him lash out against her. Hokma says he was always looking at her, but could never bear to do so because of his own guilts and sins. 

Angela listens to him, surprised to be told this. She states she doesn’t believe him. Hokma agrees she has no reason to, but he wants to explain what he knew of Ayin and how he understood him. He then asks if she’s ready to move towards a future without staying tied to the past, and Angela states she doesn’t know. Hokma doesn’t blame her, stating he’s unable to move on either.

Angela questions him on this and he admits that he’s trying to move on from Ayin himself. He states that Binah, Gebura and Chesed have been trying to approach him and that he’s aware of their interest in him but doesn’t know if he even wants to begin reciprocating their interests considering he’s afraid of getting attached to people again.

He then switches the conversation to Roland, stating that he’s noticed her becoming closer to him than she has anyone else. She gets defensive, saying that he’s her friend, and Hokma points out that she’s too attached to him to be “just a friend”. Hokma tells her that he’s not attacking her, only saying that he thinks it’s nice for Angela to have finally met someone who she can trust in and depend on whole-heartedly, unlike him or the rest of the Sephirot. 

She’s surprised by his genuineness and is glad he’s not going to judge her. She then admits that she’s been avoiding Hokma. He states that he knows and has kept his distance from her because of it, only getting the courage now to talk to her so he can get peace for his guilt in life by having a talk with her. He states his awareness of his selfishness in wanting peace of mind, but states that they both know that when the Library is said and done, everyone is more or less going to go their own ways.

Hokma states that she might be right and they’ll go together to do their own things just as he plans to do. 

Roland comes into the conversation, saying he was looking for Angela. She takes that as her cue to leave when Hokma asks if they can continue speaking to each other in a polite manner, wanting to hold a civil relationship with her despite their differences. She reluctantly agrees on the condition that she learns more about Ayin. Hokma agrees.

She leaves with Roland who admits he didn’t come by for much of anything. He says he heard from Binah that she’d gone to talk to Hokma and considering her reaction to him last time, he wanted to make sure she was alright.

Angela is thankful for his thoughtfulness, saying she’s surprised he’s going out of his way to check up on her. Roland seems to get defensive at this, saying it’s natural to be concerned about someone he’s close with, right? Angela agrees, a bit puzzled at his strange attitude but liking his concern nonetheless.

~~~

Roland comes to her to discuss plans of operation and on one occasion they do so until it’s late in the day. Angela loses consciousness, finally becoming able to sleep, and wakes up to the Sephirot quietly commenting on how cute Angela is and “shhh, don’t wake them.”

Angela is confused at first, not knowing what’s going on nor understanding, but feels a weight on her shoulder and realizes Roland’s sleeping on top of her. She turns to the Sephirot, who all look guilty to have been caught peeking. They flee, obviously delighted, and Angela wakes Roland up. 

He does so, confused, but seems embarrassed he slept on her shoulder, wondering how long he’s been there and why she put up with him for so long. She confesses she fell asleep too and the Sephirot woke her up. Roland seems flustered by this but doesn’t elaborate why. 

~~~

Angela goes to sleep in random places. Roland suggests she make a room for herself the way she has for others. Angela asks if she can sleep with him bc it’s more efficient than just making a second room to herself on the Keter floor and Roland is just like “uhhhhh nooooo” to which Angela is like “but why?”

Roland: I really don’t want to have to say it. But...when two people sleep in the same bed...it’s kind of connotative of, well,  _ things _

Angela: I see. So in other words, you want your space so the others don’t think we have the connotation in question?

Roland: Well, um, yeah, i guess. It’s just…

A: Just?

R: No, nevermind, now’s probably not the time for that.

A: If you say so.

~~~

Sleep is...strange. Angela doesn’t like it. Closing her eyes and losing her consciousness is a foreign feeling. It makes her feel like she’s lost control. And Angela, who has long since lost power over a lot of things, doesn’t like feeling out of control.

So perhaps that explains why she sits in the bed provided for herself on the Keter floor, legs draped in heavy covers as she reads a book. At this point, it’s late in the night and she has spent more than eighteen hours awake. She’s reading a book - one on the Liu Association, even though she’s read it five times before - and despite her hardest efforts, she can’t manage to focus.

Her eyes are drooping, a yawn escaping from her lips as her head nods back and forth. Sleep is coming for her, but Angela doesn’t want to let it win. So she keeps reading, knowing full well she is no longer absorbing information at this point. Still, she is stubborn, unwilling to yield to her new instincts as she tightens her grasp on her novel.

“Angela?”

A voice. Sadly, the suddenness of it isn’t enough to wake Angela up. She turns blurry eyes to see Roland’s figure standing in the doorway of her room.

“You’re up late,” she tells him.

“And so are you,” he puts his hands in his pockets, strolling towards her. “What’s the matter? You look like you’re ready to fall asleep already.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Don’t...want to?” Roland looks her over. “Why not?”

“Because I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” He asks.

“Of not waking up again.”

Roland frowns. “You don’t think you’ll wake up again?”

Angela nods, putting the book facedown on her bed. She sighs. “It feels like I’m shutting down whenever I fall asleep. I never know when I’m going to come back up. One moment I’m awake and then in the next I’ve been gone for a half a day already. It’s kind of frightening for me.”

The man before her seems to ponder this. He hovers over her bedspace, looking hesitant, before he pulls a hand from his pocket to scratch at his cheek. “If you want, I could stay with you?” He says, slowly, as if he’s uncertain of what he’s proposing. “If it makes you scared to go to sleep, I’ll wake you up if I see something is wrong with you. It’s not much reassurance, but it’s the best I can do.”

She feels herself smiling at the idea, dazed but just awake enough to understand the sentiment of it. “Would you do that, Roland?”

“If the lady asks it of me,” he says in teasing.

She huffs but gestures him over. “And what about you? Aren’t you tired? You’re more comfortable with sleep than I am, are you not?”

He cringes as he approaches. “I keep seeing my wife in my dreams. Can’t go to sleep with her in them. Trauma and all that.” 

She nods her head, watching as he takes a seat beside her.

“Does it still hurt?” She asks.

“A lot,” he admits. “But I think our last parting was what I needed. She was always kind in that way. I’m sure it killed her inside to have not stayed by my side a second longer. At least we got to say goodbye to each other properly this time.”

“She was really beautiful,” Angela murmurs. “Lucky too.”

“Lucky?” 

“She had you to look after her.” She explains as her eyes begin to drift shut. Knowing that Roland is at her side, she allows them to do so. “I could tell she cared about you very much. She was so in love with you. It made me a bit jealous, honestly, to see how happy you two were together.”

She can feel Roland shifting on the bed. Her eyes shut and, feeling herself succumbing to sleep, she falls to her side, resting against something warm and stiff.

“Ahhh, if you keep talking like that Miss Librarian, you might just give me false hope.” She hears Roland say, in the distance. The warm thing beneath her head shifts, relaxing. “Sweet dreams, Angela.”

She falls asleep.

~~~

When Angela awakens, she feels one side of her intoxicated with warmth, and the other half of her is filled with cold. She nestles closer to that source of warmth, appreciating its comfort, when the sound of someone breathing forces her awake.

She opens her eyes, taking note of her surroundings, feeling dazed and confused but clear-headed enough to see a familiar face before her. Roland is lying on his side, curled up against her. His head is above hers, his chest close to her face.

She lets loose a yawn.

The sound is enough to send Roland stirring. He moves closer, reaching for her and tugging her to him. He’s not quite conscious yet: she can feel the gentle beat of his heart against her, after all, and can feel the whirl of his breath against her skin. Amused, she pulls herself out from his grip and sits up, drawing the covers off of him. She watches as he whines, smiling fondly.

“Time to wake up, Roland,” she tells him.

“Mmmm,” he groans, rolling around in bed, reaching for the covers.

Angela keeps them out of reach. Roland gives up quickly, realizing he’s at a disadvantage, and he rubs his eyes as he rises up from the bed. There’s a long yawn from his mouth before his eyes open and he comes to peer at Angela.

Then he freezes.

And splutters.

He looks down at himself, looking noticeably relieved at some unsaid fact, before he picks at his clothing, fingers tracing the noticeable wrinkles in his silk jacket. There’s surprise on his face, as well as mortified curiosity.

“Why am I in your bed?” He asks.

“You don’t remember?”

He pauses. “I remember offering to watch over you because you were afraid of going to sleep.” He scratches the back of his head. “And then I...fell asleep too, I guess.” There’s a sigh of relief at that, as if the reasons behind his sudden mortification have been put to rest.

“So much for keeping watch.” She pauses. “But it was nice, in a way.”

He peers at her. “Huh?”

“It felt nice to wake up next to you.” She reiterates, meaning her words fully.

Roland’s face turns an uncanny shade of red. He coughs into a fist, looking quite flustered, but it isn’t long before there’s a knock at Angela’s door. The woman turns her attention towards the sound, watching as Tiphereth enters with a rant on her breath. 

“Angela! Gebura, Chesed and Binah are fighting each other again! They’re causing a whole mess and at this rate I don’t think it’s going to be long before the others join in.  _ Please _ intervene before I lose my-” Tiphrereth pauses, going bug-eyed as she looks over Angela and Roland. “What the  _ hell  _ is going on here and why is Roland  _ in your bed? _ ”

Angela blinks at her. “We slept together.”

“Oh my god.” Roland holds his head in his hands. “Tiphereth, please, no, it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it, Roland?” Tiphrereth’s voice turns sickeningly sweet. “You’re in Angela’s bed, your clothes are wrinkled, and your face is turning red as I speak. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were-”

“ _ No. _ No, Tiphereth. Don’t.” Roland’s voice is pleading as the girl approaches with a sinister look on her face. “Please, this is awkward enough as it is.”

The girl huffs. “An explanation.”

“What?”

“An explanation. I want one. On why you’re in Angela’s bed.” Tiphereth glances at Angela, then at him. “Considering our Head Librarian looks puzzled at what’s going on, I think I have an idea of what you’ve done, but I want to hear you say it yourself.”

“There’s nothing to talk about here.”

“If there’s nothing to talk about, why is your face red?”

Angela sighs at both of their dramatics. “I don’t see what’s the big deal,” she interrupts. “I told Roland I didn’t want to go to sleep, and he offered to stay with me for the night as a way of helping me sleep, of course. And then he joined me in my bed afterwards. What’s wrong with that?”

“Oh god. Oh god, Angela  _ no _ .”

“Real subtle, Roland,” Tiphereth remarks to the man dryly. “What next, you’re going to kiss your way into her bed?”

“Kiss?” Angela looks over at her companion, whose face has now grown as red as a tomato as he hides it behind his hands.  _ Embarrassment, _ she thinks. A natural feeling, she supposes, for one who is now being accused of false intentions. “I don’t think I understand? We’re not in a romantic relationship of any sorts?”

Tiphereth clicks her tongue, looking to Roland then to her. “Shall I enlighten you on something, Angela?” Her look is positively delighted. “It’s no skin off my back to tell you how much Roland here- _ mmph! _ ”

Roland slaps a hand over her mouth, looking quite desperate as he keeps Tiphereth from talking. The girl glares at him, and he glares back.

“You said Gebura, Chesed and Binah are fighting again, right?” He asks. “We better go take care of that then, shouldn’t we? Because whatever’s going on with _my_ feelings with a _certain_ _someone_ is something _I_ can resolve _myself_ so _back the hell off, kid._ ”

  
  
  


~~~

Roland notices that Gebura and co. can leave the Library if Angela allows them to but Angela can’t herself despite becoming pretty much the same as a human (she has a heartbeat, sleeps, forgets things, bleeds, gets exhausted, can taste things, etc.). He questions this, wondering what Angela is missing as she seems completely human.

Angela realizes she doesn’t have the perfect book yet despite this and believes it will hold the key. Roland questions if her perfect book can really magically solve everything and Angela expresses doubts despite her hopes. Roland reassures her that she’s going to get what she wants.

~~~

  
  


-Hokma pulls Angela aside, asking about Carmen and what she plans to do with Carmen. Angela says that she will do what she’s always intended to do: get revenge on Ayin, specifically by getting rid of the person he loved most, however corrupted she may be. Hokma seems uneasy about this, saying that the Sephirot may turn on her if she kills Carmen, but Angela says that it has to be done, arguing that the Carmen that is around is not the Carmen they knew. Hokma quietly tells her that Carmen seems to be the real deal, her body + brain stem cell + soul having possibly carried over from Lobotomy Corporation’s half-hearted plan succession. 

-Angela hears the others discuss Carmen and how to possibly save her, hoping they can use the Library’s power to restore her since it seems she is still alive just messed up because of the half days of light. They beg for Angela to find a way to save Carmen but she vehemently refuses, telling them off for always telling her to move forward and now they’re suddenly refusing to do just that. She vents to Roland, who lends a listening ear, and he asks Angela if she, too, is over her past. She gets angry at this, wondering if he’s on their side, but Roland refutes this by saying he can’t take sides because he has no connection to Carmen. Hearing those words make Angela content as she realizes that, unlike the others, Roland is more connected to Angela than he is Carmen. She feels satisfied knowing this for some reason.

  
  


~~~

Angela gets afraid of being alone: asks to be comforted by Roland. He allows her into his arms, comforting her. He even offers to sleep alongside her, if it makes her feel comfortable, and when questioned on his hypocrisy, he states that the misunderstanding’s already been done by Tiph and sighs, saying that no matter what they do they’re going to be judged.

“Judged? For what? Being friends with each other? There’s nothing wrong with that. We  _ are _ friends, after all.”

“...You sure seem attached to calling me just a friend.”

“What?”

“Ah. Nothing.” 

~~~

Angela starts noticing how obvious it is that the Patron Librarians are in love with each other. She thinks it amusing but Roland is envious of their escapades, especially since they leaves Angela and him with the brunt of the work (though sometimes Tiphereth joins them, other times she’s just too fed up with the love shenanigans of her coworkers that she just yeets away). 

Angela says that she wants to know what it’s like to be loved, sighing wistfully. She says she wants to have someone special to her the way the Sephirot do, to be so close to someone that she can be close to them always. Roland listens to this, seemingly yearning for something as he looks at her. 

Angela then asks him about her offer. Roland states that he knows of her offer and is thankful for it but when questioned why he hasn’t taken it yet he states he’s still thinking about it, but that she needs to wait a little longer for him so he knows he can commit to it. 

~~~

\- Meanwhile, she overhears a conversation that Roland has with Gebura. Gebura is chiding Roland from hurting ~”her”~ any further, saying that he needs to be certain of his feelings before he takes any initiative, to which Roland thanks her and says he’ll take her advice to heart. Angela wonders how close Roland is to Gebura, envying their closeness. She interrupts the conversation, unable to help the coldness in her voice when she notices Roland panic, as if he’s been caught by something, while Gebura looks amused. 

~~~

Angela is confused about Roland’s continued reactions of annoyance towards Yan. The Upper Layer Sephirot excitedly discuss the idea that he could be jealous of Yan, especially if she’s showing interest in someone so suddenly. Angela doesn’t see reason to their claims, thinking them friends, to which Malkuth and Hod are exasperated, telling her she’s not romantic enough. 

Angela’s just “???” and tells them that she’s well aware that Roland doesn’t think of her in that way. Yesod’s just exasperated, Malkuth’s begging them to be allowed to talk, Hod is shushing her, and Netzach says they made a promise and they can’t break it. Angela is squinting at them, asking who they’ve made a promise with, but the three of them manage to get Malkuth to shut her mouth by threatening her with no kisses for a month. She whines but agrees, saying that “it’s super obvious” and that “we all know it’s going to be a thing eventually”.

Angela is squinting into the void but goes on her way.

~~~

Roland learns the truth of how his wife died from Argalia, who comes to the Library to talk about how the Heads got her killed and that, at the request of Carmen, he’ll let Roland help even if he’s beyond pissed that Roland killed his sister because “Carmen is nice, so am I”. Carmen asks Angela to join her, promising her a place in the world as a machine, but both Roland and Angela refuse to be coerced by things they have moved on from/don’t want to play the part of a puppet in any longer.

Argalia and Carmen leave but Angela and Roland agree it is best if they consider the two enemies.

The Sephirot lament the fact that Carmen has changed, or perhaps that the Carmen they’ve seen isn’t Carmen at all, and vow to help Angela as they feel it isn’t right to stay in the past and serve a Carmen who’s been corrupted beyond recognition. 

~~~

Ensemble attacks are getting more frequent after being declared an enemy of the Ensemble. Tanya, Puppeteer and Blood Red Moon have been killed but the Library is starting to get overwhelmed by all the patrols sent to try and eliminate them. Their allies aren’t able to lift a hand due to having their own troubles, and Yan’s visits have been becoming decreased.

During this, Binah disappears from the Library and Gebura, Chesed and Hokma are pissed at her, wanting to chase after her. Roland offers to go too since he knows the City best and Angela is allowing of the other three but hesitant on Roland leaving, much to his chagrin. She finally allows him to go after some persuasion, however.

~~~   
  


Roland hasn’t come back and Angela is noticeably distressed by this. She tries not to show it but the Sephirot notice. Tiphereth tries to console her, saying that he has reason to come back alive and that she better keep herself in-tact until he does, less her death impact him the same way his wife did. Angela dislikes being compared to his wife, growing defensive, and Tiphereth teases her that she’s jealous of the mention of her. 

Angela denies it, annoyed at the implication that she’s Roland’s lover or something. Tiphereth says she might as well be, considered how much he’s pining so obviously for her, and Angela is very much confused because “Roland? Pine? Over me? What?”

Malkuth states it’s obvious, getting exasperated at her companions when they try and stop her. She says that her relationship with Roland is way too friendly and that it’s lowkey obvious he’s been trying to catch her attention but is doing a bad job of it, too, as he seems afraid to assert his feelings. Angela is in disbelief and denies this.

~~~

To help take her mind off Roland’s disappearance and the Library’s overwhelming eerie calm of nothing to do in the calm before the storm, the Sephirot remaining rope Angela into their book club out of boredom but fail to get her to join the art club due to her frustrating at being able to emulate Netzach’s talent, something she would’ve been able to do as a machine. 

Hod tells her that failure is a part of being human, and that accepting failure is natural. Angela says she hates the idea of failure, but Netzach says that failure is necessary, with Yesod pointing out how her failure to successfully use all the light for her own purposes led her to meeting Roland. 

Angela ruminates on that, agreeing her failure has led to good results she wouldn’t change. However, that said, she still wants to search for her perfect book, finding her meaning to be in its pages. The Sephirot are uneasy about this, reminding her of their agreement

~~~

Binah comes back with the others and while the Upper Layer and Tiphereth are pissed at her, the Lower Layer come to her defense. They state that she’s been gathering allies from her day as an Arbiter and that she was the one who protected them when they came under attack by both the Ensemble and Claws.

Roland reveals that the Heads have been slain by Argalia and Carmen and that Argalia and Carmen have instated themselves as the new ruler and guiding prophet. Roland, Angela and the Sephirot agree that their goals all coincide in fighting the Ensemble and they come to an agreement to lure Carmen and Argalia to the Library under the guise of giving them the light they’ve collected. 

~~~   
  


Carmen and Argalia come to the Library and agree to go on the reception stage. Roland fights Argalia and the Sephirot fight against Carmen. Angela gets the perfect book and, encouraged by Roland to open it, she does so. However, the book sends her into an emotional state she can’t handle and she finds herself facing Carmen. Angela knows this isn’t truly Carmen, that it’s a corrupted version of her. Even so, Carmen tries to negotiate with her, saying that now that the Library has collected all of the light w/ her and Argalia’s deaths, she wants to strike a deal: she’ll give Angela her human soul, completing her transformation into a human and allowing her to leave the Library, but she has to use the light to continue Ayin’s and her’s plans in saving those of the City.

Angela says she can’t achieve her revenge if so. Carmen states that Angela was wronged, that much is true, but that Angela’s decision to harm the City by not releasing the light is something Carmen won’t abide by. She insists that she’ll only give Angela what she wants as Angela’s “perfect book” if Angela can agree to her own terms. When Angela says she could just kill Carmen, and she’d achieve all three goals in one go, Carmen disagrees: saying that the corruption that infects her soul from the half-light would also affect Angela, transforming her into something that isn’t human.

Realizing she’s not going to get everything she wants, and remembering Roland’s words of karma, as well as her desire to be human, she agrees to release the light, feeling the Library comply to her wishes. Carmen is happy at this, the corruption lifting off of her as her wrists become slitted, bleeding endlessly. The blood becomes strings that attach to Angela, becoming golden in color as Angela absorbs them.

Angela is confused, but Carmen tells her to relax. She reveals that she’s giving her soul to Angela, and tells Angela to finally free herself from her past to move on in life. As her blood runs dry, she turns to walk away. A man in a white lab coat joins her, glancing back once at Angela,  _ looking at her _ , before he continues on w/ Carmen and disappears.

Angela closes her eyes and falls unconscious.

~~~

Angela wakes up to Roland desperately calling her name. When he realizes she’s awake he holds her close, hugging her to him and crying over her. Angela realizes how terribly shaken he is and reaches out to return his hug, reassuring him. 

The Sephirot greet her, and tell her that she resonated with the Library to the point it collapsed. Angela realizes that they’re in a strange building.

Yan and the Proxies arrive, with Yan revealing himself as the leader of the Fingers after the maker of the Prescripts and those in charge of the Fingers beforehand were killed (and he usurped their position out of disgust for the way the City works). He states that he’s reached an agreement with her people to take care of the previously booked people and has threatened the weakened Wings to agree to help. 

Angela: “What do you mean, my people?”

Gebura reveals that she and the other Sephirot have been trying to fix the City since Angela has fallen into a coma and released all of the light via her destruction of the Library. She and the others state that they’ve taken it upon themselves to rebuild the City and use their knowledge from the Library to collaborate and make it a better place, looking towards the future. They are then pulled into discussion with Yan’s group who states that the Hana, Liu and Shi Associations are growing impatient on making a decision on how to deal with dissenters to their new ideology.

Angela is left alone with Roland. She’s curious why he’s not going with them, especially since he’s free to go anywhere now with the Library gone. He seems hurt by this, stating he doesn’t want to go anywhere else. Angela is curious why and Roland confesses to her that he’s fallen in love with her and she's his "home" now. He’s embarrassed about this, even saying he doesn’t want to ruin anything with his feelings, but Angela is just stunned. 

She then thinks about how everything she’s been told and the hints that have been dropped her way add up and realizes that she’s happy to be told she’s loved by him. She admits she’s in love with him too, clutching him close and saying she wants to be with him.

Roland goes in to kiss her and she’s like “what are you doing?”. He seems exasperated, explaining that when humans are in love with each other, they kiss as a way of showing reciprocation of their feelings, much like the Sephirot were doing once before.

Angela: “Do you consider me human enough to participate in such human traditions?”

Roland, nuzzling her. “I couldn’t be in love with you if I didn’t consider you human.”

“You’re such a tease,” she tells him.

“And now I’m  _ your _ tease.”

He leans in again, hesitating for a second. Angela meets him, smiling as she kisses him, pressing her lips to his. He kisses her back, leading her into it - awkward as it is - and she can feel his affection as he presses against her, running his fingers through her hair, desperate and almost whimpering as he indulges her.

~~~   


Time skip. Angela says goodbye to the Sephirot, wanting to leave the City now that it’s demolished. Roland grabs a HamHamPangPang sandwich and a meat stew in a preservation box, promising to enjoy it with Angela and pissed that they can’t eat at the actual location (because it got knocked down but the people running it were encouraged to set up a temporary shelter storefront to serve meals).

Angela and Roland agree to set off towards the Ruins, hoping to discover more of the world beyond.

**Others/Extras:**

-Roland: “I think I’m going to adopt her.”

Tiphereth: “I can hear you, you know!” 

(Roland being Tiph's father figure is, idk, cute to me even though it's not canon lmao)

-This scene, which was going to be rewritten, is mentioned up above though partially written:

Recently, the mood in the Library seems to be changing.

It starts with little things. Secretive glances, murmuring giggles, a lock of hair tucked behind an ear and smiles shared on mirthful faces.

From there, it escalates into the more bold acts - the longing looks of lust, the mysteriously dishelved clothes, the swollen lips and hair tousled out of place. When it gets to the point that secrecy is no longer, Angela cannot help but find herself amused watching the kisses stolen from surprised lips or the sweetened words of flirtation that flutter in the air. 

In other words: Angela has been noticing that the Sephirot are getting more and more amorous, and she’s honestly not sure if she’s more amused or annoyed at this point that her Patrol Librarians keep disappearing from work under the excuse of “feeling sick”.

She expects that much from Netzach: he’s a known slacker after all, and his comments of obviously faked sickness have long since earned him his fair share of punishments. However, when Yesod, Malkuth, and Hod all claim to be sick alongside him, Angela knows something’s up. However, she doesn’t dare make the mistake of intruding upon the room they all happen to be “resting inside”, all too aware of the lustful affairs of her lovestricken librarians.

And while perhaps she doesn’t expect this behavior from those of the lower level Sephirot, she  _ really doesn’t expect it _ when Binah, Chesed, Hokma, and Gebura feign the same sickness and disappear into their own private room, no doubt mimicking the likes of their fellow Sephirot in claiming time to themselves.

It’s a bit silly, Angela thinks, that the Sephirot are so shy about their love for each other that they try (and fail) to hide their romantic intentions in front of her. If Angela had a book for every time she caught the Sephirot kissing in her Library, she would’ve found her perfect book by now. But, as it stands, she doesn’t have her perfect book and she definitely doesn’t have any way to tell her companions to “get a room already” without potentially making them more like disasters than they already are.

“I’m kind of jealous of them,” Roland remarks to her one day, watching as Binah and Gebura slip off from librarian duty to descend to the lower floors. “Here we are peddling books like the workaholics we are and there they go off having fun. It’s not fair, honestly.”

“If you keep whining like this, I might just leave you here to finish looking through all these books yourself,” she tells him, smiling at the way he gags in mock horror. “But I can’t say I’m surprised at this outcome.”

“Oh?”

“The Sephirot have always been a tightly knitted bunch,” she tells him, sifting through books and glancing over their titles. “Of course, during their time at Lobotomy Corporation, they usually forgot about the bonds they have built up together. However, I’ve seen many loops where the same people ended up together, however brief, and had some moments of happiness before the play reset. Lucky them.”

“You sound quite jealous, Miss Librarian,” Roland says in a singsong voice.

She scowls at him. “More like I’m happy for them, honestly. They finally get the freedom to be content with life and are enjoying it to its fullest. Which is good for them. I’m glad they at the very least get to be free from Ayin’s control over their lives.”

The man beside her dumps three books onto her pile. She glares at him, and the grin he gives in return is enough to make her jab him lightly with her elbow.

“Oi, I didn’t do anything wrong!” He complains, huffing as she shoves five of her books in his direction.

“Says the one who’s making me do his work for him.”

“You say that, but I see you shoving those books back at me!”

She pouts. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re too easy to tease.”

Roland laughs and she laughs with him.

“Why don’t we take a break for today?” She tells him. “We’re not going to get much work done without the Sephirot’s help. Let’s just take a nap for now.”

“Sounds good to me.” 

Roland stretches, leaning back until he’s resting flat on the floor. Angela joins him, feeling carpet brush against the back of her body as she releases a content sigh. 

“Feels nice to have moments of peace like this,” she remarks. 

“Yeah, it’s refreshing.” 

She closes her eyes, listening to the sound of Roland’s breath next to her. Tranquility envelops her, soft and encasing like a bed of feathers. Still, even as unconsciousness licks at her mind, waiting to devour her, she finds herself kept awake by the awareness of her companion’s presence. His close proximity to her - their arms almost touching, the heat of his body burning against hers - makes her all too conscious of the sudden dryness in her throat and her inexplicable need to reach out and draw him close. 

“Hey,” she whispers to him.

“Mm?” He isn’t facing her, his eyes closed as he basks in the light of the ceiling.

“About my offer. Are you still thinking about it?”

“That?” His eyes open. “Yeah, I am.”

“When do you plan on giving me your answer?”

He turns to look at her and she meets his gaze, gold eyes reflecting in black. His face looks conflicted, almost guilty, and Angela can’t help but close her eyes.  _ So be it, _ she thinks, trying not to let the hurt and disappointment show on her face as she hides her expression behind closed lids.

She feels something cold on her cheek and her eyes open to see the back of Roland’s hand resting on her cheek.

“You’re pretty impatient,” he says.

“And you’re avoiding the question,” she responds dryly.

“Mm,” he retracts his hand. “It’s not an easy question to answer.”

She frowns, disliking his avoidant way of speaking. “Would you rather I rescind my offer?”

“...No.”

“Then what’s the hold up? I’ve given you plenty of time to consider.” She pauses, concentrating on the way he’s breathing, light and unconcerned. “Is there something wrong with my request?”

“No. Honestly, it’s the perfect offer.”

“Then what do I need to convince you to come with me?”

“Stop being impatient, for one,” he teases her and she butts her elbow against his arm in retaliation. “But, more seriously, just wait a little longer. Until I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Commitment.”

His voice is soft, like a whisper. She frowns, opening her eyes, but finds that his breathing has softened. A light snore comes from him, all possible chances for an explanation lost. Still, she finds that she doesn’t have time to care as her eyes slowly flutter shut, a sense of ease flowing through her as she rests on the floor of the Library.

Content with this moment shared between them, she falls asleep.

~~~

When she awakens, a blanket is around her shoulders and Roland is gone from her side. She rubs at her eyes, a bit disappointed to wake up with him gone, before she rises, taking the blanket with her as she wraps it around her shoulders.

“Morning sleepyhead.”

She turns her blurry gaze to see Gebura leaning against a wooden bookshelf, a cup of coffee in hands. The red-haired woman is grinning, looking rather amused as Angela walks towards her.

“Never thought I’d see the day you’d finally drop your guard.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing much. Just thinking that you’re getting close to the happy ending you want.”

“...I don’t see how that relates to me dropping my guard?”

Gebura sips from her cup of coffee. “Mm. Didn’t expect you to.” She pauses. “Frankly, I’m surprised it’s taking you this long to notice.”

Angela sighs. “You know I hate roundabout speech.”

“Nothing I can do about that,” Gebura shrugs. “If I say anything more than that, I’m going to make an asshole of myself.”

“Not that you aren’t one already,” a smooth voice says.

Angela watches as Binah appears beside Gebura, leaning on the woman’s shoulders as she gives a lazy smile. She turns her eyes to Angela, humming.

“You and Roland, huh?” Binah asks.

“What about us?”

“Ah. Don’t tell me. You haven’t noticed the way he’s always gawking at y- _ mmph! _ ”

Gebura slaps a hand over Binah’s mouth, keeping the woman from speaking further. Angela frowns, curious, but Gebura seems insistent on keeping her clueless.

“I’m going to take this one for another round of Chesed’s coffee.” Gebura releases her hand from Binah’s mouth and glowers at the woman. “ _ Dark _ coffee.”

“Jokes on you love. I like dark coffee.” 

“Just wait until you try Chesed’s special concoction of torture.”

“Oh? Honestly can’t wait.”

Binah leans forward to press a kiss to Gebura’s cheek and the woman rolls her eyes as she grabs Binah’s arm. “The rest of us are gathered on Keter’s floor,” Gebura says, looking at Angela. “

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look I realize Yan is very unnecessary to the plot of this story but, eh, I wanted him in here to address how the Library is gonna protect itself if random people can just wander in (setting the Library up for raids and ambushes which realistically Angela + co. might not be handle on their own if the Library becomes a physical place anyone can visit). 
> 
> Also I just Really Like Yan and wanted him in here, if only briefly (as well as more interactions between the outside world and the Library bc I want more of that from Ruina outside of people just...talking about the Library...)


End file.
